


Tacenda: (n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence.

by L_M_Biggs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Consensual Underage Sex, Dark Magic, Depression, Dubious Consent, Fix-It of Sorts, Horcruxes, Imperiused Sex (Harry Potter), Intrigue, JKR gave us a wealth of unrealized potential and it pisses me off, M/M, Paganism, Political Intrigue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spy Percy Weasley, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 145,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/pseuds/L_M_Biggs
Summary: Percy Weasley had the next ten years of his life planned out in painstaking detail. He dealt in absolutes and knew what he was willing to do to achieve his goals. He was going to graduate (top of his class) from Hogwarts, then he'd get a job at the Ministry (plus a seat on the Wizengamot). If all went well in five years he'd have a lovely wife and be working on getting his own slice of land with a house (or even an apartment in London) and could start providing his mother with the grandchildren she always harped on about.And then Harry Fucking Potter had to come in and throw a wrench in all of Percy's carefully laid out plans by stirring up trouble and the beginnings of another Wizarding War.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Percy Weasley, Severus Snape/Percy Weasley
Comments: 30
Kudos: 38





	1. Arcadian: (adj.) idyllically innocent; simple and untroubled by fear or worry.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was requested by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous. 
> 
> I will say that I appreciate everything that JKR has done for the genre of fantasy and that the Harry Potter books were groundbreaking for their time. I will also say that the books have a wealth of unrealized potential and that my primary genre of writing has always been horror. As a horror writer, I am pleased to take on the challenge of this fic and hope that I have done the initial prompt the justice that it deserves. I have used JKR's universe as a blueprint, but have altered (and hopefully improved) some areas that feel sorely neglected, overlooked, or dissonant.
> 
> There are dark themes explored here and I have tagged and warned for most everything I can think of, so please continue with caution.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and the Mirror of Erised.

“Percy!” Molly called from the kitchen several floors down and Percy quickly shoved the book he was reading into the side of his chair, between the over-stuffed arm and cushion when he heard his mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs. It wasn’t that he thought she’d… Mind exactly, the sort of extracurricular reading he had gotten ahold of on his last trip into the Ministry with his father. It was just that he’d rather not deal with the awkward questions that he didn’t want to answer in the first place. Scabbers squeaked from his spot in Percy’s breast pocket, clearly unhappy about being jostled by the boy’s sudden activity. “Percy, dear, you got a package!”

At that Percy came thundering down the stairs, swinging wildly around one banister and then another until he met his mother halfway up-down the ramshackle structure of The Burrow. “Mum!” He grabbed the package and smiled brightly as he stood with one foot on the edge of one creaky step. He ripped the paper off of the small package, plain brown paper and white string, and then opened the small red velvet box inside. 

He had hoped his hard work would be recognized, that all of his hours of mentoring, tutoring, his good grades, everything would pay off. Cornelius Fudge had been Head Boy back in his day, and the step towards Head Boy was Prefect. 

“Oh, Percy!” Molly laughed as she jumped up and down, clapping her hands in delight before she pulled her son’s gangly form down into a tight hug, kissing his cheek firmly. “My son, Prefect! That’s three in a row, you know, and I always knew you’d have it in you!”

Percy flushed and smiled down at the small red and gold badge, running his hand over it. It was beautiful and perfect and everything he deserved. 

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration!” Molly declared, smiling widely up at Percy. “Why don’t we go into Diagon Alley, just you and me, and we’ll get you something special, anything you want!”

Percy held the Head Boy badge and stared at it for a few more moments before he looked at his mother and smiled. “I’d… I’d like that. Just us, right?”

“Of course,” Molly hugged her son one more time, drawing him tightly to her chest, and then released him. “Go get spiffied up and we’ll floo right over!”

Percy turned and raced back up the stairs to his room, Scabbers letting out another loud squeak at the sudden movement. He really was much too old for all this activity, Percy supposed as he carefully removed the rat from his pocket. He placed Scabbers in his box, which was filled with scraps of shredded Daily Prophets and a few toys and old over-darned socks that were beyond saving. Percy smiled and watched as Scabbers huffed and curled up in his box right next to his bowl of food. The positively ancient rat fussed about in it before his tiny paws grabbed a cold piece of cooked sweet potato, left over form dinner the night before. 

Satisfied that his pet was well taken care of, as was everything in his room, Percy turned and began to change out of his more threadbare trousers into a pair of corduroy’s that both Bill and Charlie had hated and therefore never worn. The fabric was stiff at the seams, but the rich chocolate color was not faded and a belt held the waistband snug around Percy’s much thinner waist. He checked his shirt in the mirror, decided it really was the best one he had, and then carefully pulled his father’s old school robes on over his. It wasn’t the most fashionable thing, but still less embarrassing than wearing his own black school robes outside of school. He glanced at his tall red hat with the sweeping brim, decorated with a cluster of lion-shaped pins over the seam that was slowly coming undone at the side, and wondered if it’d be too much to wear his school hat out. 

Probably. 

Percy pulled on his last pair of good leather shoes, wondered if they’d last him the rest of the year with how pinched his toes felt, and raced down the stairs back to his mother. 

Molly Weasley was fussing over Ron and Ginny watching Fred and George practice with their Beaters, shouting at the twins to watch out for their siblings, that she’d be gone for a bit and if anything happened she’d take it out on their hides. Privately, Percy wondered if this trip, like so many others, would become a family affair.

To his surprise, Molly turned and smiled at Percy and gestured for him to grab a fistful of floo powder. She was dressed in her best tweed robes, her own wild red curls covered by a squat wide-brimmed hat, and Percy wondered when he’d be able to buy her a new one, one without so many discreetly embroidered and hidden away patches and seams. 

They flooed into the Leaky Cauldron and then stepped into Diagon Alley, easily slipping into the bustle of the post-school year streets where students were running rampant with their families and friends. Molly took Percy to Fortescue’s, and he flushed as she ordered each of them a vanilla ice cream. It was such a childish treat, but it made him happy to stand beside his mother, wandering the shops and quietly eating ice cream as she chattered and made suggestions as to what he should get. 

Percy quietly mulled the question over himself, letting his mother’s voice become background to his own thoughts as they walked together past several familiar and brightly lit shops. 

Robes was an obvious request, but what was the point? He was going to school and people there would hardly care that his robes were hand-me-downs, they could last for another few years. He could always purchase new quill nibs, a few new books he had been eying in Obscurus Books, perhaps a diary in order to better organize his school load now that he would be entering his fifth year. 

The familiar chatter and noise of owls reached Percy’s ears and he froze when he stared at Eeylops’ Owl Emporium. 

It felt like a small betrayal to think of getting an owl when he already had Scabbers, but while the rat had been a loyal and affectionate companion in all of the ten years that Percy had had him, Scabbers was incapable of more than just that. Percy would be applying for jobs soon, he might even get one over the summer after he turned sixteen, so it would make sense to have an owl in order to send and receive missives without paying for the use of one at the owl post or in the Hogwarts owlery. It was also leagues better than relying on Errol’s unreliable timelines.

“Mum, can I have an owl?” Percy asked, interrupting his mother’s seemingly endless stream of suggestions. 

Molly glanced up at Percy, then followed his eyes to the Emporium. He caught the crinkle of worry at the corners of her eyes, could see her doing the mathematics in her mind, before she smiled broadly and nodded. “Of course, Percy. You deserve it for all your hard work!”

It was a few brief minutes before Percy found an owl that suited him. The warm brown of the small, grouchy-looking screech owl called to him, and when he held out his hand the owl eyed him for a brief moment before climbing onto his wrist, sharp talons digging into delicate skin. 

“An excellent choice,” Henry Eeylops smiled, his wizened face seeming even smaller with his bald head peeking out of his heavy robes. “Might I also suggest being fitted for an arm guard and wand sheath?”

“What?” Percy asked, curiously looking at the old man. 

Eeylops rolled his own sleeve up to reveal a perfectly fitted leather cuff surrounding his arm from wrist to just below his elbow. The leather was midnight black and stamped with intricate filigree swirls that made Percy’s heart pound. He glanced at his mother and his keen interest faltered at the worried pinch of her brows. They couldn’t afford it. They could barely afford the owl.

“It’s… It’s beautiful, but we can’t afford it,” Percy stepped back, smiling at the man. “Just the owl and some owl treats.”

“That’s a shame,” The old man paused before he smiled at Percy. “How about a discount, hmm?” Hope and pride warred inside him, and before Percy could protest the man plucked a quill from its rest and wrote out a price on a sheet of invoice paper. “Does that seem fair?”

It was still so much, but Percy chewed his lower lip. “If… If I go to Gringotts I can get the money.” He had some savings from tutoring at Hogwarts, this would wipe all of that out, but it was such a rare indulgence. 

“Hurry along, then, young man, I’ll gather up Hermes here and get him ready.” Eeylops smiled and gestured for the next customer to come along. 

It was a busy afternoon and the trip to Gringotts was even more daunting than Percy had anticipated. Goblins didn’t concern him, but the ricketing cart whizzing around to his vault did worry him. Molly sat in the cart, smiling when Percy carefully counted out his exact change for the purchase. Five galleons worth of sickles and knuts jingled in his pocket along with the only three galleons he had managed to keep whole. 

“Don’t feel guilty, Percy,” He looked down at his mother as she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You deserve nice things.”

Eeylops had Hermes packed up with his cage, a bag of premium owl treats, and even a black velvet cage cover by the time they returned. “Mr. Weasley, excellent!” Eeylops waved his wand and produced a measuring tape. “Your dominant arm, if you please.” Percy held out his left arm and watched as the tape whirled around his wrist, his forearm, just below his elbow. “Now, there’s several customizations you can choose.” The man opened up a packet of papers and flicked through it. “There’s several colors you can choose from. Natural, chestnut, noir, India ink, and oxblood are the most popular, though there have been quite a few who have chosen more unique combinations.”

“Oh, um…” Percy stared at the colors and cleared his throat. “The, um, the oxblood would be nice.”

“Good choice,” Eeylops nodded his approval. “As for the detailing you can choose from ornamental rhomboid, filigree edging, snakeskin, dragon scales, or a rather cheeky chesterfield pattern.”

Percy worried his lower lip at the different patterns before he pointed at the filigree that matched Eeylops’ own. “That one is quite nice.”

“Excellent.” Eeylops smiled up at Percy as he wrote down the order, measurements, and placed his quill aside. “It will arrive by owl within a week, so keep a weather eye!”

It was exciting to think of purchasing something custom made for him, no hand-me-downs or something he had found for cheap. “Thank you.” He whispered, and Molly beamed as her son handed over the money for the order and collected Hermes’ cage and owl treats. The entire walk back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch and a quick cup of tea was filled with Molly’s chattering, but Percy couldn’t find it in himself to respond more than just a few nods and murmured affirmations at the appropriate points. 

A few days later, when he received the sheath he treated it with water, soap, and vinegar, watching the leather shine a deep, muddy red before he wrapped it around his arm, watching the way the seam magically vanished and smoothed out, ready to be peeled back whenever Percy needed to remove it. Standing in front of his mirror, ignoring the scuffed edges and cracked corners, he stared at himself, imagining himself maybe a bit older, his face less freckled, his limbs less gawky and his torso less skinny, more slender. Maybe with different glasses, ones that weren’t so old-fashioned.

“Minister Weasley,” Percy murmured to himself, clearing his throat before he said in his most firm voice, trying to keep it from cracking. “Hello, Prime Minister Major, I am the new Minister of Magic, Percival Weasley.” He swirled his school robes and imagined them as something more dignified. Maybe purple, or blue or… Green. Yes. Green would look quite handsome with his hair. “Hello, Minister Major. I am Percival Weasley, Minister of Magic.” He turned on the spot as if he was apparating into the office of the Prime Minister of England as was his right. “Hello, Minister Major, I am Minister Weasley of the Ministry of Magic.”

“Merlin’s beard.”

Percy startled and jumped, stumbling and nearly knocking over Hermes’ cage as he turned to his door where the twins were standing with Ron and Ginny peering between their broader siblings’ torsos curiously. 

“I didn’t think he could become even more of a prat, did you, George?”

“Certainly not, Fred, but it seems that becoming prefect has made him reach new levels of prattitude.”

“Mum!” Percy shouted as he glared at his brothers. “Fred and George are spying on me!”

“As if you’d ever do anything worth spying on you for!” George shouted back.

“He’s fantasizing a bloody coup of the Ministry, Mum!” Fred bellowed at the same time.

Percy desperately wanted to tell his brothers to fuck off, but Ron and Ginny were right there and if one of them heard him saying a foul word they’d immediately go running down to their mother. 

“Fred, George, go away!” Percy snapped, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. 

Percy sighed and sat down at his desk, finding his half-filled an mostly-ruined diary. His classes had been carefully selected and planned out since his first year. Ever since he had gone with his father to visit the Ministry when he was eight he knew what he wanted. 

This was his final year of core classes and he had decided to make it count, so he carefully opened his letter from Hogwarts and started to list the classes within the appropriate time slots of the week. 

Astronomy, Charms, Defence Against The Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, Divination, Arithmancy, and Music. 

Percy sighed as he glared at Divination listed on his class list. He had put off taking it for so long, but gentle insistence from Professor McGonagall had convinced him to at least give it his best go. He hardly placed any stock in his mother’s fussing about tea leaves or Penelope Clearwater’s twittering on about palm reading and love lines, but he had already taken Arithmancy for three years, even going so far as to completed Advanced Arithmancy early on the recommendation of Professor Vector. He had wanted to take Advanced Ancient Runes, but Professor Babbling had apparently gotten sick of him if she had rejected his request to take it early.

Percy sighed and tapped his quill upon a corner of the diary, staring down at his lesson plans before he sighed and picked up his Witch’s Almanac. He fingered at the cover of the thick book and flicked it open. 

“Welcome Fellow Traveler,” It greeted him, and Percy fingered at the page edges before he flicked to the index. The book changed every year on New Years, with new publications, new articles, and certainly new spells and potions for the average wixen. It had been a gift from his Great-Uncle Ignatius whom he had been named after and it had served him well in all his years of reading.

He flicked through to the pages of recommended reading and skimmed the lines of books. Some of them would be available at Hogwarts, he was certain, but some of them were clearly not meant for a young man of fifteen. He certainly was sure that _Love Spells and Potions For The Eligible Witch_ was not targeted at him. 

But _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_ seemed interesting, and Percy supposed that if he was going to take Divination he might as well get a good grade in it. He wrote down the name of the book, along with the _Tarot Guidebook and Spread Compendium_. It never hurt anyone to be prepared, and even if he didn’t like the coursework, it was helpful to have other references on hand.

* * *

“Percy?” Ron’s voice called from the other side of the door and Percy sighed as he removed his horn-rimmed glasses. He rubbed at his eyelids, replaced the glasses, then stood to unlock the door and open it. They had gone to get their robes, their books, supplies, and Ron had gotten his first wand. But with no money left after the expenditure of purchasing Percy an owl, Ron hadn’t gotten the owl he had been eyeing in the window of Magical Menagerie. 

“What’s wrong, Ron?” Percy sighed, closing his diary before his brother could catch a glimpse of the rant aimed at his inability to get new robes. No need for his younger brother to worry about the family’s financial burdens. 

“I was just… Wondering what is going to happen to Scabbers?”

Percy hadn’t quite thought about that, and the realization that he wouldn’t be able to bring both Hermes and Scabbers to Hogwarts made his heart seize up. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Scabbers, who was sleeping happily in his box. “I… I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose I can have Ginny care for him while I’m at school-”

“Can I have him?” Ron asked, smiling up at Percy. 

“I… I suppose so.” Percy frowned as he looked warily at Ron. “But you can’t turn him odd colors or cast spells on him. He’s old and he needs to be taken care of.” Percy gently stroked his hand over Scabbers plump middle to wake him. The rat let out a confused squeak and Percy gently picked him up, rubbing his cheek over soft, smooth fur for a fond moment. 

“I’ll take care of him, Percy, I promise!” Ron was bouncing on his feet and reaching up for the rat. 

Percy held Scabbers out of reach and glared at his brother. “And you’ll feed him properly? Not make him scavenge?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ron fiddled with his fingers impatiently as he watched Percy’s back. Percy gave Scabbers’ small, greying head a gentle kiss and then turned and held him out to Ron. 

“Okay, you can take his cage… And his bedding… And make sure that you don’t overfeed him, he’s already fat as it is. No sweets or treats like I know Fred and George feed him, it’ll make him sick.” Ron nodded and accepted the rat, cuddling him against his chest as he watched the way Percy fussed about with Scabbers’ things. “I suppose you’ll need to take his things to your room… But if I find out you’re mistreating him I’ll take him back, I swear to LeFay.”

“I swear, Percy, I’ll take good care of him!”

Percy sighed and carried Scabbers’ things down to Ron’s room, his youngest brother holding Scabbers firmly but not too tightly, just like Percy had shown him years ago when he finally trusted Ron to hold his beloved rat.

“And careful if you sleep with him in your bed, he likes to curl up under the pillow, mind you don’t suffocate him.”

“I won’t, Percy, he’ll be fine,” Ron gently placed the rat on his bed and knelt down next to him, watching Scabbers scramble around in confusion at his new environment. “Just you wait, Scabbers, we’re gonna be great at Hogwarts.”

Percy couldn’t help but smile and ruffle Ron’s hair before he turned and left the room, feeling slightly heartbroken, but better about his pet rat’s new caretaker. Ron wouldn’t intentionally hurt Scabbers, Percy trusted him to take good care of the rat.

* * *

“Farley,” Percy greeted as he sat in the Prefect car of the Hogwarts express. “Hillard, Truman.” He sat down among his peers and cleared his throat when he glanced at Penelope Clearwater. “Penny.”

“Percy,” The pretty blonde gave a small smile before she glanced down at her diary, tucked to her chest with her quill all but tickling her nose. She hastily shut the book with her quill sandwiched between the pages. 

“That… Can’t be good for the quill,” Percy suggested as he cleared his throat and fiddled with his own fingers. It felt strange, coming on the train without Scabbers to pet and fiddle with.

“Did you hear, Harry Potter is having his first year at Hogwarts,” Gemma Farley sighed as she wrinkled her nose and smacked a wad of droobles, blowing bright blue bubbles into the shape of rubber ducks, popping them with her tongue before sucking the deflated gum back into her mouth. “I bet he’s not even real. How do you explain how nobody’s ever seen him? I mean, You-Know-Who just kills his parents, gets blown up, and then what? No one ever sees the supposed boy-who-lived for another eleven years?”

Percy tuned out Gemma as Truman and Hillard argued with her about her theory, throwing out a variety of theories that included that he had been locked away in a castle somewhere wearing an iron mask so that no one could know who he was. It was all very gruesome, but a good way to spend the time. 

“So, um, Penelope,” Percy cleared his throat. “What classes are you taking this year?”

“The usual, plus Divination. I’ve been looking forward to it for years, but my parents insisted I take a few other electives first.”

“We’ll be in class together, then,” Percy smiled as he looked at her pretty blue eyes and wondered if she had enchanted them to be brighter than last year. 

It had taken a few years for Percy to get used to feeling of crossing the boundary of the Hogwarts grounds. The electric feeling that travelled up his spine made him smile, and within a moment he had his wand and cleared his throat.

“Multicorfors,” He enunciated clearly, and in a moment his clothing had changed into his prefect’s robes. Gemma’s bubblegum popped and the other prefects snickered slightly at him. “What?”

Penelope was flushed brightly and Truman snickered as he nudged her shoulder. “I bet Clearwater here is wondering if you know a spell that does the opposite.”

Percy blinked for a few moments before his eyes widened and he turned bright red. “I… Um… No. I don’t think they teach that at Hogwarts.”

“Why don’t you read it in your dirty girl’s book?” Gemma asked with a smirk.

“What?”

“The Witches Almanac? Really? I saw it in your bag last year.”

“It’s not a dirty book!” Percy flushed even more, certain that his face now matched his hair. “It’s a very useful tool for information beyond what is provided at school.”

“Like spells to take your clothes off?” Gemma shot back, grinning as she stood and turned to Penelope. “Come on, Clearwater, let’s go change, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” Penelope smiled at Percy. “See you later.”

Percy watched Penelope leave and wondered if he should actually feel like this. Like she was the best option, not necessarily that he loved her. He had seen his parents over the years. They still loved each other, but after Ginny was born… That love seemed to have faded, tempered into something more mild. He supposed that once his mother got what she had wanted, a daughter, that maybe they felt little need to keep up a pretense of undying passion. 

Or maybe passion had never been taken into account. 

Percy glanced over as Hillard and Truman began to change into their own Prefect’s robes and put their pins on. Percy adjusted his bright red hat, feeling a seam rip ever so slightly as he did so. Time to transfigure another fork into a pin, he supposed. He pulled his hat off his head, checking over the red velvet gently. He glanced over and out of the corner of his eye could see Hillard, skinny and lean from years of playing Quidditch, changing into his blue Ravenclaw robes. He was much shorter than Percy, but he was quite a bit more handsome than Percy felt.

Percy removed his glasses and cleaned them with the sleeve of his robes, trying to seem like he wasn’t staring at his peers. The train pulled up to the Hogsmeade platform and Percy stepped off the train car before the others had finished with their ties, trying to put some distance between himself and thoughts that he didn’t want to confront. Hagrid was calling the first years over towards the boats, and Percy began to usher the second and third years over towards the carriages. 

He caught a glimpse of Ron with a dark-haired first year making their way in their plain black robes, winging like little bats over to Hagrid’s bulk. He couldn’t help but smile and wonder just how long the hat would take to sort his baby brother into Gryffindor. 

The answer was no time at all. The hat had barely gone down past Ron’s eyes when it declared Ron to be a Gryffindor. Percy clapped and scooted aside to make room for Ron beside him, rubbing at his brother’s shoulder while they waited for the rest of the sorting.

When Harry Potter was called out there was a silence that Percy had never heard in the Great Hall. Everyone held their breath as he stepped out from the crowd and Percy glanced over when Ron leaned even further in his seat, craning his neck to see over the heads of other students. Harry Potter looked… Nothing like Percy had imagined, but at the same time exactly as one would expect. He was small and skinny and had features too awkwardly large for his face, especially his green eyes magnified by his coke bottle glasses. 

The hat was stalled on his head, mumbling to itself and Harry. Percy remembered that moment and swallowed, thinking of how the hat had hesitated on his own head, had whispered about Slytherin greatness, but eventually decided on the importance of Percy’s family devotion to their house. 

Percy tried not to resent the hat for it’s decision.

When Harry Potter came bounding over to Gryffindor table his robes turned a bright crimson shade and Percy smiled as the boy gasped and stared down at them in delight. Ron wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder in a friendly grip and Percy smiled as the sorting continued. Once the last student had made their way to their table and McGonagall has whisked away the hat and stool, Dumbledore stood and smiled.

“Let the feast begin,” He waved his hands with all his usual dramatics and flare that he had, and the feast appeared on their plates and platters immediately. 

Everyone began to eat and Percy devoured his first plate more quickly than he should, but the promise of a properly full stomach for the first time in weeks overrode all logic.

Everything was always a whirlwind the first night back at Hogwarts, and now with the duties of a Prefect, Percy was rushed off his feet. The first years were guided to their house common rooms and directed to their quarter and when Percy was sure they were all in bed, he and Delia Deen nodded to each other and made their way to the staff room. Percy and Delia had never been… Friends… She had a stern face and had always been viciously competitive with grades, making her a very challenging rival in Percy’s small world. He wondered how much more difficult of a friend she’d be. 

“Mister Weasley, Miss Deen,” A low, drawling voice called out and Percy and Delia both turned, staring up at the towering dark figure of Professor Snape. His black eyes fixed on the two of them and Percy could feel Delia stiffen at his side, taking a step back. 

Percy himself straightened and gave a subdued smile up at the man. “Professor Snape. Happy to see you again for another year.”

“I’m sure, Mister Weasley,” Snape sneered, his eyes fixing on Percy for a long moment before he turned his piercing gaze to Delia. “Miss Deen, I certainly hope that your grades in potions will not suffer any further due to your additional duties as Prefect?”

“No, sir,” Delia cleared her throat. “We were just going for the meeting in the staff room.”

“Hmm,” Snape turned, his cloak billowing about his body as he made his way down the hallway. Percy and Delia paused, exchanged a glance, and then decided that following their abrasive Professor was less intimidating than being late to their first meeting as prefects. 

The staff room was narrow and had several chairs of different makes and woods surrounding a long table. The other Prefects were trickling in, some of them unlucky enough to not slip in with a teacher and having to face the inquisitions of Cletus and Ciaphas outside the door, the two Gargoyles apparently enjoying a good chat. 

Percy glanced at the table and the numerous empty chairs, specifically at the two chairs that sat empty on either side of Professor Snape. 

Percy sat down beside the man, smiling up at him. 

“Weasley,” Snape didn’t bother looking away from his book. A copy of the Witch’s Almanac that made Percy’s throat clench in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be sitting with your head of house?”

“Why? Not all of the houses are together,” Percy nodded at Gemma, who was giving the most obvious moon eyes to Madam Hooch, and Penelope who was listening with rapt attention as Professor Trelawney read her palm. 

“Politeness does not seem to make a difference to you, so I shall do away with it.” Snape snapped his Almanac shut and turned to Percy fully. Percy stared at the grey tinge of the man’s skin, the sleepless circles under his piercing black eyes, and wondered what made the man seem so sleepless. “Move, Mister Weasley.”

Percy glanced around, and then looked up at the Professor. He stood, pushed his chair back in place, and then moved to sit on Professor Snape’s right side instead of his left. The grey skin of Snape’s cheeks flushed with rage and he opened his mouth to say something, only for Percy to cut him off. 

“It seems that there’s no more seats, Professor Snape.” Percy let the corners of his lips twitch into an innocent smile as he turned to face the table, pulling his own diary from his robe pocket. He fumbled for his quill for a few moments before Snape scoffed and slammed his own quill onto the table in front of the Prefect.

“I should hope the next meeting you’ll be more prepared,” Snape murmured with a scoff and Percy took the short black quill with a flush and a murmured thanks.

Dumbledore smiled at the table and started to talk about the month’s assigned patrol routes and the duties given to each prefect. He explained that these patrols and duties would change month to month, allowing the students to get a full grasp of the different machinations of the school’s administration. Percy glanced down at his diary, Snape’s quill dripping ink onto the page as he waited. When he looked over at the man’s fingers he saw them impatiently drumming a rhythm out on the back cover of his Witch’s Almanac. His nails were painted a glossy beetle-black, the short nails carved into sharp points. Percy had seen those nails pierce delicate bodies of insects and slice through stems of fragile plants. They were quite intimidating, but functional beyond that.

“And… Mister Weasley,” Dumbledore smiled at Percy, his eyes glittering with delight as he looked at the ginger-haired boy. “Since you seem to have the most bravery in the face of Professor Snape’s rather demanding nature, you shall be assisting him with whatever he needs to produce potions for the infirmary.”

Percy looked over at Snape and tried to keep his smile from becoming a smirk, clearing his throat as he met those daunting dark eyes. “I’d be delighted, Headmaster.”

The meeting was dismissed and Snape was the first to storm out of the room while the others mingled with their assigned Professors. Percy hesitated before he followed the man, grateful that apparition was impossible on school grounds. 

“Professor Snape!” Percy’s robes flapped weakly behind him, like cardinal’s wings trying to keep up with the bat-like drape of the Professor’s robe. “Professor Snape, wait!”

“What, Weasley, is it not enough that you’ll be imposed on me for a month of after school business, must I be haunted by you like an errant ghost?” Snape turned, glaring down at Percy with a scowl. The shadows cast by the wall sconces made his features stand in high relief, looking even more sharp and jagged than usual. 

“Sir, I might be a Weasley, but I am not my brothers.” Percy tilted his chin challengingly. “I’ve been an exceptional student in your classes, you’ve never seen poor grades from me or bad behaviour. I highly doubt that I deserve this level of distrust.” The young man squared his shoulders and steeled himself. “So. Perhaps we might start over?”

Snape stared at him, an unreadable expression that Percy was sure meant that a student had said something so horribly stupid that it baffled the man. “Start over?”

Percy held out his hand to the man. “Professor Snape, I’m Percy Weasley, I look forward to working with you this month.”

Snape was silent as he stared at the teenager and Percy kept his hand raised and his eyes fixed on Snape’s own. “Percy.” The man scoffed and took Percy’s slender hand in his own long, chilled fingers. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Percy smiled at him and bowed his head in a small nod. “Excellent. And when would you like to see me in your office?”

“Seven o’clock sharp every night unless I say otherwise.” Snape pulled his hand back and turned. “Now, go to bed, Mister Weasley, you have an early start tomorrow.”

* * *

Percy remembered Samhain as a child. There was candy and sweets aplenty, but he remembered his Great Uncle Ignatius taking him to Samhain celebrations, where the moonlight washed over them golden and warm, a blessing that bathed his face and soul. 

Standing on the roof of the Astronomy tower, the tallest peak of the castle, Percy breathed in the crisp October air as he watched the moon rise in the distance. The Halloween feast would be beginning soon and Percy knew he couldn’t afford to miss it, he had a reputation to uphold. 

“Weasley-” A familiar voice snapped and Percy nearly stumbled off the roof with a start. 

A pale hand shot out and grabbed his robes and Percy grabbed the wrist of that hand to balance himself. 

“Fuck!” Percy let slip, choking on his breath when he stared at disapproving dark eyes. “Professor Snape, I’m sorry, you just startled me-”

“What are you doing?” Snape demanded with a scowl. 

Percy flushed and let out a steadying breath as he stepped towards Snape in order to retain his balance. “I was… Drawing down the moon.” He flushed, clearing his throat. 

“… Old magic,” Snape’s expression was a new one, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in a pinched expression that Percy translated as… Surprise. “I’ve never caught you here before.”

“I’ve always done this much later at night,” Percy cleared his throat. “Midnight is the most optimal.”

“I know,” Snape raised his brow. “It is still surprising. Why not the same tonight?”

“I have other duties now that I’m a Prefect,” Percy tried not to shiver at the man’s piercing gaze. “And it… It wouldn’t do for a Prefect to be breaking rules.”

“Indeed,” Snape raised a brow. “Are you finished?”

“N-no,” Percy felt his ears turning red with embarrassment. “I… But if you’d like the roof-”

“I merely need to begin the process of making moonwater,” Snape held up a glass vial of clear liquid, ostensibly water, and a bowl carved out of moonstone. Percy watched in quiet fascination. He had never seen moonwater being made. 

“How is it done?”

Snape looked up at Percy and then down at the bowl in his hands, wandlessly casting a simple levitation spell. The bowl floated in the air and Snape stepped back. “I’ll check on it at midnight and then again at sunrise.”

Percy blinked curiously at the Professor. “Where is Farley? I thought she was helping you this month?”

“Farley is an excellent sportswoman, but she is not inclined to the finesse required to for the delicate process of potion making.” Snape did not look at Percy as he stepped away from the bowl. “You were by far one of the more competent students to assist me in my duties.”

That prompted a broad grin to split Percy’s face before he composed himself, clearing his throat and nodding. “Professor Snape, could I please come with you to check on the moonwater? I’ve never seen it made before and I feel like this would be an excellent exercise to further my potions education.”

He didn’t expect the recalcitrant man to actually say yes, so when Snape gave a snort and a nod he was startled. “Midnight and sunrise exactly or don’t bother coming at all.”

Percy climbed clumsily through the Astronomy tower’s rooftop window and waited for the Professor to follow, watching him almost float down to the floor, landing with practiced ease beside Percy. They walked through the hallways towards the great hall and Percy waved at the Professor when the man parted ways with his student, leaving Percy to make his way alone to the great hall and Gryffindor table.

The feast was over the top as all Sabbats were in Hogwarts. Well… Not all of them. Percy was fairly certain that Beltane was not celebrated at Hogwarts for a specific reason. Dumbledore stood at the staff table and smiled as he made his speech about All Hallows Eve and the sacred Sabbat of Samhain, heralding in the New Year by honoring those who died. The students obediently prepared the traditional plates for the dumb supper. Younger First Years selected from the available food, while older students transfigured the standard fare into the favourites of their beloved dead. 

Percy prepared a plate of bangers and mash with peas for his Uncle Fabian, and then transfigured a matching plate into a bowl of his mother’s spiced pumpkin and lentil soup and a chunk of coarse brown bread for his Uncle Gideon. He whispered his love for his Uncles and placed the meal at the seats of the table. The other students did the same, standing beside the supper laid out for the dead, and offered a moment of silence. After the moment of silence was over with the plates were vanished away and the students sat at their spots and started the Samhain feast. 

Percy picked apart a pomegranate, glancing over at the staff table every so often as he thought about moonwater and old traditions and black woolen robes. 

The doors to the great hall burst open and Professor Quirrell came screaming into the hall.

“Troll in the dungeon! Troll in the dungeon!” He stood, panting and panicked in the middle of the hall. “… Thought you out to know.”

Percy stood as Dumbledore calmed the stampede of students and ordered the Prefects to move the students to their common rooms, and the teachers to accompany Dumbledore himself to the dungeon. Percy caught sight of Snape slipping through the side door before he turned to Delia. 

“Come on, let’s get them to the tower,” Delia stood and Percy followed, ushering children into orderly lines. 

Once they were in order he turned to Delia and whispered. “I’ll catch up, there’s some stragglers.”

“Be careful, Percy, you nearly failed last year’s Defense Against The Dark Arts,” Delia said, and while it was a barb, he could see fear in her eyes. Nothing like this had ever happened at Hogwarts in their time there and even Gryffindors could feel fear.

Percy wound his way through the halls quickly until he found Fred and George trying to be sneaky, hunched together. “Where is it?” He demanded and the two jumped, hiding the thing they had been peering at behind their backs. 

“Where’s what?”

“I know you think I’m stupid, you don’t have to give it to me but let me look and make sure the students are all safe.” Percy snapped as he held out his hand.

“Okay, okay,” Fred turned and whispered something Percy couldn’t hear before he opened what looked to be a rather worn and ratty map. “Here, have a look.”

Percy opened the numerous pages and folds, scanning over everything. He froze when he saw an enormous pair of footprints on the map labelled “Troll” lumbered towards the girl’s bathroom where “Hermione Granger” was standing in place. Followed closely by a pair of footsteps labelled “Ronald Weasley” and “Harry Potter”.

“Fuck,” He whispered.

“Percy!” Fred and George gasped in stereo even as Percy ignored them and searched for the footprints of faculty members. Snape was the closest at the third floor corridor.

“Get to the common room,” Percy ordered, shoving the map at the twins. “We’ll talk about that thing later, but for now get to the common rooms.”

He turned and raced through the hallways. “Professor Snape!” He shouted, going through the numerous winding halls, up and down the stairs. He heard the deep barking of a dog and startled, following the sound when he heard a pained cry. There was an open door and Percy followed it down a dust-filled corridor that he had never seen before. He frowned as he stood in the chilled, unlit corridor, following the echoing sound of several dogs snarling and barking. 

“Weasley!” Professor Snape’s voice called and Percy stumbled, nearly running headfirst into danger as Professor Snape came stumbling gracelessly out of a room. “Close the door!”

Percy stared at the snarling, drooling, snapping mouths of three enormous dogs, unsheating his wand from his wrist. “Colloportus!” He shouted, causing the door to slam shut and lock tightly. Professor Snape was panting and biting back a groan of pain as he stood, leaning against a door. “Professor Snape!” Percy turned, looking the man over. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Weasley, what in the name of Ursula Kemp are you doing here?” The man frowned. “How did you find this place?”

“That’s not important,” Percy shook off his confusion and worry. “Professor, the Troll isn’t in the dungeons, it’s headed towards the girl’s bathroom. My brother and his friends are being stalked by it!”

Snape straightened and grasped at Percy’s shoulder for a moment. “Where?”

“The girl’s bathroom,” Percy stared at the man who seemed paler than usual. “Professor, what was that thing?”

“None of your concern, Percy,” Snape released Percy’s shoulder and took his weight off the younger man. “Go to your common room, I will deliver your brother to safety.”

Percy nodded, watching as Snape stormed off down the hallway, his cloak billowing behind him. Percy looked down and froze when he saw, in the disturbed dust, blood dripping along the ground following Snape’s footprints.

Hours later Percy waited for Snape at the Astronomy tower. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes past midnight. The glittering bowl of moonwater was glowing and Percy watched it turn and levitate for a few moments before he climbed back down into the astronomy tower, down the winding stairs, further down to the dungeons. 

“Weasley, what are you doing here?” Percy jumped at Gemma’s strident voice and turned, clearing his throat. 

“Farley,” He straightened. “Have you seen Professor Snape?”

“What’s it to you?” The girl scowled, glaring at Percy. 

“He-” was limping and hurt and bleeding and Percy was worried. “Had some moonwater that he left on the roof, he was supposed to show me how to tell if it was right.”

Gemma’s expression twisted into something furious. “You… Why would he be teaching you after hours? You’re not his assigned Prefect.”

“I took the initiative, Farley,” Percy said simply. “Where is he?”

Gemma didn’t say anything for a long moment, shaking and clenching her fists, when she finally spoke her voice was tight and angry. “Fuck off, Weasley, you fucking teacher’s pet.”

She stormed off down the hall and Percy hesitated before he quietly followed the girl, listening for her shoes clicking upon the ground. He followed her in the winding dungeon hallways and after a few tense minutes and close calls she stopped in front of a door in the dungeon. 

Farley pounded on the door for a few long moments, but when it didn’t open she huffed, stamped her foot, and turned to walk away. Percy hesitated for a few long moments before he crept towards the door. He didn’t know why he raised his hand, but it took all the courage he had to give a timid knock to the door. 

“Professor Snape?” He called out quietly. “Your… Your moonwater is looking good.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open. “Weasley.” Snape glared at him. “What are you doing down here?”

Percy hesitated for a moment before he whispered. “I was worried… You were bleeding.”

“I assure you that I do not need the assistance of a student to heal my own wounds. Anything that I could not handle myself with a few well brewed potions of my own stock, I could certainly go to Madam Pomfrey for assistance with.”

Percy cleared his throat and stared at Snape, at the tightness between his brows and his lips peeled back in a sneer. Snape’s dark hair hung limply around his face, but the smell of sweat and potion ingredients wafted off of him. 

“Did you?”

“What?”

“Heal yourself?” He asked curiously. “Or speak to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Insolent-” Snape began, only for Percy to step abruptly forward, sending the man off his own balance. Percy gave a triumphant smirk at the man and tilted his head. “Not a word.”

“You’re still hurt. Why haven’t you treated yourself?”

“None of your business, Weasley.”

Percy stepped past Snape and froze when he saw a bottle of firewhiskey open on the counter. No glass, just the bottle. Percy looked over at his Professor, tilting the bottle before he raised a brow at the taller man. “I didn’t know firewhiskey had magical properties.”

“Shut up,” Snape snarled and Percy ignored him, walking over to a drinks cabinet open nearby. There were multiple bottles, all clearly labeled, and he found a healing potion. The strong scents of dittany and wormwood filled the air when Percy unstopped it, holding it out to Snape. The man was silent for a long moment. “Why are you here?”

“I told you,” Percy said simply as he kept his arm outstretched, absolutely startled that his hand wasn’t shaking with the fear he felt. “I… I was worried about you.”

There was a few long moments of silence between them and Percy didn’t move, neither did Snape. After a long moment the man delicately grasped the neck of the bottle, his sharp black nails tapping upon the smooth glass as he pulled it aside. Percy tried not to think about how his heart leapt at the feeling of Snape’s pinky brushing lightly against his own fingers as he released the bottle into Snape’s own grip. 

The man took a deep swallow of the potion, the pomegranate pink liquid vanishing while Percy watched Snape’s Adam’s apple bob above his tightly starched collar. Once the bottle was drained he placed it beside his firewhiskey. “Get out, Weasley.”

Percy turned, obediently walking towards the door. 

“And come to the astronomy tower just before dawn,” Snape called before Percy opened the door. “Moonwater must be harvested before sunlight touches it, and it cannot have sunlight touch it even after it is bottled.”

Percy smiled at Snape for a few moments before he nervously worried his lower lip. “Gemma Farley is going to be spitting teeth tomorrow.”

“You leave Miss Farley to me, Mister Weasley,” Snape sneered. “Now get to your common room and get some sleep before I decide to deduct points.”

* * *

Percy sat in the library worrying his lower lip. 

Cerberus. That’s what he saw… And what attacked Professor Snape. Care of Magical Creatures was not his strong suit, but even Percy could tell that the thing was a perfect guard dog. Guarding what, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to know what Professor Snape had been so worried about that he’d go and risk his life to check on it. 

Percy rested his head upon his arms and sighed. After Halloween something had… Changed. He knew he had always been one of Snape’s favourites in class, but the man had grown distant ever since the moonwater incident. Even more distant than was usual for him. It was late and Percy had been entrusted by Madam Pince to not destroy the library, but he couldn’t bring himself to spend more time bent pouring over books of a variety of subjects to try and figure out what in the name of the Horned God and the Triple Goddess was going on in this school.

Percy closed the latest macigal creature reference book and replaced it on the shelf, frowning when he heard footsteps. He peered around the stacks and saw Professor Quirrell’s purple turban wrapped around his head. His dark face was cast in shadows by the faint light of his wand tip, but Percy could see the whites of his wide, perpetually startled eyes. He didn’t look well, but Percy doubted that him coming out from behind the stacks would make the man feel any better. If anything it’d just send the nervous Professor into a panic. 

Curiosity was a curse, Percy was sure, that was the only explanation he could think of as to why he followed the Professor at a distance, watching him pause in front of a nondescript door. His lips were moving, he was muttering something that Percy couldn’t hear, hesitating to reach out for the door, only to pull back sharply. After a moment, he turned and fled the hallway. Percy hesitated for only long enough to be sure that the man wasn’t still there before he raced over to the door and tried the handle. 

It swung silently open and Percy froze only for long enough to check and make sure there weren’t any trolls or enormous three-headed dogs on the other side of the door.

There was, instead, a mirror inside.

Percy crept deeper into the room, watching icy winter moonlight filter through the frosted over windows to catch on the ornate gold frame. Thin fingers reached out to brush dust off of the top of the frame.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.” He read softly, frowning as he looked at the inscription. “What rubbish is this?” He looked at the dusty old mirror, only to feel his breath caught in his throat. 

There he stood, wearing fine robes in a dark green, his curls slicked and tamed, his glasses polished and unbroken or worn. He had the pin of the Minister of Magic on his lapel. 

“Prime Minister Major, my name is Minister Percival Weasley of the Ministry of Magic.” 

Percy stared at the mirror, swallowing tightly as he blinked and took in the image. He could hear footsteps outside the door and held his breath before he slipped behind the glass, listening as the doorknob rattled. He covered his mouth to keep his breath quiet as he stared at the shadow along the wall, cast by the crisp moonlight. The footsteps were slow and even and Percy breathed deeply, waiting. 

There was silence for a long moment before Professor Snape’s voice hissed. “Fucking impossible.”

Percy stiffened and clamped his hand even more tightly over his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at Snape’s shadow. The man let out an annoyed growl and his hand reached out. His fingers gripped the frame and Percy could see Snape’s sharp, pointed nails mere inches from his face. 

“This… This is not what I want,” The man hissed in annoyance. “It can’t be.” Percy didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t dare do anything other than wait in perfect stillness. The man let out a frustrated growl and slapped a hand on the glass, causing it to rock against Percy. Percy pressed against the mirror and righted it, careful not to make any sound as he bit his lower lip and listened for Snape’s footsteps and movement. “I don’t deserve this.” He whispered softly to the mirror. “I never will.”

Percy listened quietly for a long moment, expecting the man to say more. 

Footsteps, the door opening then closing, and Percy let out a deep breath of relief. He stepped out from behind the mirror and stood in front of it again, squinting up at it. He stroked his fingers over the glass and stared at himself. His reflection showed himself in the previous Ministry garb, though he startled and turned to look over his shoulder when he saw Snape’s pale face looming behind him. The room was empty of any other soul. Turning back to the mirror, Percy stared at the face of the Professor behind him, one long-fingered hand sliding over Percy’s shoulder, up his jaw, tilting his reflection’s face up for a soft kiss. 

Percy stumbled back from the mirror and bolted from the room, slamming the door shut behind him without a care for how late it was and that he wasn’t meant to be out so late. When he made it back to the library his heart still hadn’t stopped pounding.

When Percy went back to the room, weeks later, after the winter holidays and Yule, the mirror was gone. Perhaps it was for the best. Percy didn’t know whether or not the ache in his chest was disappointment or relief.

* * *

It wasn’t even necessarily that Percy was particularly disappointed to spend the week of Lupercalia in detention with Snape. It was just that he was disappointed to have gotten detention in the first place. One damaged cauldron was not too bad and Snape was known to have patience with the first cauldron destroyed of the year, but Percy had spent a month accidentally burning, melting, and blowing up cauldrons and it was clear that Snape’s patience had worn thin. 

Percy couldn’t keep his hands from shaking every time the Professor would pace past his desk, and with something as finicky and precise as potion making that was unacceptable. In all of his previous four years, even as a snotty little first year, Percy had never been outright afraid of Professor Snape. Certainly the man was intimidating, but he was a competent man and a fair teacher even if his temper would run a bit short every so often. His grading was strict, but not overly harsh, and he had never even raised a hand against Percy much less struck him for insolence. 

“Percival,” Professor Snape drawled as he stared at the chagrined young Weasley in his office. “You seem distracted.”

Percy cleared his throat and fiddled with his fingers before he reached into his pocket, drawing out a small perfume bottle from his pocket. One of his fellow Prefects had thrown the glass bottle away after she had emptied the bottle. Percy had dug it out of the bin, repaired the glass, and then cleaned it out. It was small and the glass was tinted yellow with black lines criss crossing across the surface like a fish net around the tear-drop shaped glass. 

“H-happy Lupercalia, Professor Snape,” Percy murmured. “I saw this and thought of you.”

Snape stared at the bottle for a long moment, not saying a word, before he gestured to a row of first year scroll cases, each one emblazoned with a student’s name. “Grade those.”

“Pardon?” Percy asked, confused. 

“Until you’re ready to tell me what is distracting you, you will sit here, every night, and grade papers. I have enough work to do and since I clearly cannot trust you to do real work, you will finish my busy work.”

Percy bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, sitting down at a desk at the front of class to start grading the rather intimidating line of gleaming metal tubes. 

When midnight came around he was dismissed and he trudged back to his rooms in Gryffindor tower. Then the next it was the same. From seven in the evening to midnight he’d work, then he’d spend his nights in bed staring at the ceiling trying not to think of Professor Snape’s eyes, or his long fingers, or the movements of his wand, or the smell of potion ingredients wafting from his hair. 

By the fifth night in detention he noticed the fresh, medicinal smell of moly on the man’s breath and every so often he’d hear the unscrewing of a lid, but when he’d glance over the man would be walking away or seeming as if he had never moved. 

One night he glanced up just in time to see the man place a sprig of the tough stem in his mouth, flower and all, and began to chew thoughtfully as he frowned down at a potion that was being particularly uncooperative. Percy wondered what it would taste like to kiss the man. 

Saturday rolled around and while Percy was in the Great Hall for breakfast a familiar shadow loomed over Percy and caused him to stiffen and look up from his toast and Daily Prophet. 

“Mister Weasley,” Snape barked, glaring down at him. The others at the Gryffindor table all reeled away from the Prefect, who stared at Snape with wide eyes, his glasses slipping up the straight bridge of his nose. “Come with me.”

Percy placed the prophet down and stood, feeling suddenly much less protected without the thick folds of his red school robes about his shoulders. He felt a bit silly, actually, standing in front of Snape wearing his dark red sweater with a golden P on it, the sweater at least two times too large for his skinny frame. He followed the tail of Snape’s billowing cloak and when he finally caught up with the man he felt brave enough to speak up.

“What are we doing?”

“You will be assisting me with gathering potion ingredients,” Snape said simply, offering no further explanation. 

Percy cleared his throat and looked up at the man, taking in his sharp profile and fixed gaze. The thought of standing up straighter to brush his lips against the man’s jaw crossed his mind and Percy just as quickly ushered that thought on it’s merry, demented little way. 

“What ingredients?” Percy asked, more out of a desire to not have the silence between them encourage many more of those thoughts. 

“It is right before spring, there are numerous plants used in potion making that can be harvested now.”

Percy followed the man out of the castle and onto the grounds. They walked for half an hour around the edge of the lape, well beyond the usual paths of students off to steal secret rendezvous. The jagged mountains and caves and outcroppings of rocks made for treacherous climbing, especially with the worn-flat soles of his hand-me-down boots. He stumbled on a particularly slick rock and nearly fell, only for a sharp-nailed hand to catch his wrist, Snape physically hauling him up until Percy could catch his balance. 

Percy flushed as he was held close and froze when Snape stared down at him. 

“Come along, Mister Weasley, we have work to do and we have a long journey back after a day of work.” Snape released Percy and after a few long seconds they moved along. 

They climbed into a cave and Percy walked along slick stone, his hand resting upon a mossy wall. They came out the other side into a valley overflowing with flowers of all colours and blooms, awash with the weak February sunlight. 

“It’s…” Percy blinked at the surrounding greenery and then at Snape. “Not someplace that I could see you traipsing about.”

The man cut a rather strange sight as Percy watched him summon a crate filled with glass jars with screw tops, each one labeled in Snape’s scrawl. “Start gathering.”

Percy began the process carefully, picking up the first jar and checking the label. 

Lily of the valley. Simple enough.

After an hour Percy managed to find a patch of the small, bell-shaped flowers and had changed his opinion on the supposed simplicity of this task. Of a dozen flowers, even Snape had only found one of his intended flower, placing it aside in the crate as Percy placed his own. It was meditative work, searching for the correct bloom and trying not to trample anything else under foot lest he need it for the next jar. Foxgloves, Jessamines, Banksia, Monkshood, and Tuberoses were all found and carefully placed in the slowly filling crate. When Percy finally slotted a jar chocked full of tuberoses, Snape finally straightened and waved his wand, sending the crate whizzing back to the school. 

Percy looked around the small hidden garden and then back at Snape, who stared at him as well. “You don’t seem suited for this place.” He said simply, and Snape raised a brow at him.

“Neither do you.”

* * *

“Ronald Weasley, you fu-bloody idiot!” Percy snapped as he stormed into the infirmary. Ron’s hand was swollen to twice its size and turned a sickly shade of green. Madam Pomfrey was currently sitting beside him, draining a lime colored puss from the flesh. “What on god’s green earth were you thinking?” Percy hissed as he glared down at his brother. “A dragon? Kemp’s Curse, what were you even thinking?”

“How did you-” Ron bit his tongue and let out a pained groan, sweat beading on his forehead as more of the green puss was slowly sucked out of a pinprick sized hole in his hand. 

“I saw Charlie and the others flying about,” Percy scowled as he grabbed a wash cloth from the sidetable nearest Ron’s bed. Madam Pomfrey gestured to a basin and Percy immediately doused the rag, the scent of witch hazel barely diluted by water and peppermint filling the air as he moved back to sit on the edge of Ron’s bed. “You’re an idiot.” He said as he pressed the cloth to Ron’s forehead, mopping at his face gently. “If you died in your first year at Hogwarts mum would be so disappointed.” Ron gave a shaky smile and Percy worried quietly over his fever. “Not to mention that since I’m a Prefect I’d get in trouble with her. How do you think that’d make me look?”

Ron laughed at the joke and Percy let his lips twitch up in a slight smile. After about two hours Madam Pomfrey had managed to get Ron’s hand back to a relatively normal color and Percy had stubbornly insisted on staying at his brother’s bedside when she tried to usher him away. 

He was hunched over the edge of Ron’s bed, his forehead pressed to his brother’s knees uncomfortably, when he heard footsteps approaching in the dead of night. He straightened and frowned, looking over towards the door of the infirmary. The door didn’t open, and Percy stood, quietly inching his way over to the door. He listened intently, his ear pressed to the hard, cool wood and heard whispering. Men’s voices, two of them, one lower than the other weaker voice, but Percy couldn’t place them or make out what they were saying. There was only a moment where Percy hesitated before he unlocked the door and opened it, peering out into the darkness of the hallway. 

Professor Quirrell was walking at a clipped pace down a flight of stairs, but Percy couldn’t see anyone else. He frowned and shook his head, closing the door quietly. No one could have left the hallway quickly enough that Percy wouldn’t at least catch a glimpse of them. And if Professor Quirrell was talking to himself… Well… That wasn’t any of Percy’s business.

“Percy?” Ron called out weakly and Percy turned, looking at his brother’s sleep-hazed eyes. 

“Go to sleep, Ron,” Percy whispered. “You’re sick. You need your rest.”

It didn’t take more than that order for Ron’s heavy eyelids to droop shut and his head to relax back into the pillow. Percy stroked his fingers over Ron’s still feverish forehead and frowned, wondering what other trouble Ron would manage to get into on the encouragement of his new friends.

* * *

“Professor McGonagall!” Percy pounded on the door to McGonagall’s quarters, dressed in only his pajamas and boots, even forgetting to put on his robes and Prefect badge. “Professor McGonagall, please!”

There was no response, and Percy raced through the winding, labyrinthine halls to the staff room, but no one was there save Binns, who was as useless to Percy as a crushed flobberworm. “Fuck!” Percy shouted as he stood in the staff room, hearing the gargoyles outside chiding him over his language as he bolted back out. 

Down into the bowels of the castle, Percy found the path back to Snape’s private office. He pounded frantically on the door. “Professor Snape, Professor Snape, please open the door!”

He wasn’t sure if it was the tone of his voice or the fact that it was him pounding on the door in the dead of night, but in an instant the door was spelled open and Percy was met with the sight of a rumpled Professor Snape. 

“Mister Weasley, do you have _any_ idea what-”

“They’re missing!” Percy gasped out as he stared up at the man. “I found-found Neville in the common room petrified and Ron, Harry, and Hermione are all gone!” Snape stared down at Percy and the young man worried that he would tell him to go back to bed, that it was merely student shenanigans. Percy choked on his own fear, bit back a sob, and stared at the man pleadingly. “I can’t find McGonagall, I can’t find them, please, please, what if they went to the Cerberus?”

“Fluffy?” Snape startled, staring at Percy for a long moment before he grabbed the young man’s arm. “Go to the Headmaster’s office. The password is Licorice Snaps.”

Percy looked up at the Professor and shook his head. “I need to be there, I need to help find them!”

“Percival Weasley,” Snape straightened to his full, looming height and grasped at Percy’s shoulders. “You will go to the Headmaster’s office and you will wake him and tell him that I sent you and will meet him in the mirror room.”

“Mirror room? What, Professor-”

“Go, now, I will find your friends,” Thin fingers released his shoulders and Percy watched as Snape all but glided down the hallway, faster than Percy had ever seen him move. He hesitated only for a moment before he turned and went in the opposite direction, the fastest route to the Headmaster’s office being a winding staircase that ended two halls away from the gargoyle entrance. 

His ribs burned and stung with exhaustion as he raced up the stairs, the thought of Ron in danger the only thing keeping him moving. His mother would never forgive him if he let something happen to Ron, if he got killed when Ron was supposed to be watching him. He made it to the gargoyle and all but collapsed against the wing of the great stone creature, wheezing out “Licorice Snaps” to make the staircase corkscrew and ascend to the Headmaster’s office. 

“Headmaster,” He managed when the door opened to reveal Dumbledore in his sleep robe and night cap clearly just awoken by the gargoyle. “Profes-Professor Snape sent me.”

“What is it, my dear boy?” Dumbledore asked as he gripped at Percy’s arm, holding him upright with a strength that belied his age. “What happened?”

“Professor Snape said to meet him in the mirror room.” Percy choked on his own breath and stared at him. “It’s - It’s about Ron and Hermione and Harry.”

“Wait here, Percival,” Dumbledore said, his tone a firm order as he guided Percy to sit down. “You’ll be okay.”

“But Ron-” Percy choked. “That big dog - the Cerberus! It could just swallow him whole! There’d be nothing left!”

“Ronald will be fine,” Dumbledore said firmly as he stared Percy. “He will be fine, you stay here and wait.” He turned and before he left the door. “Have a peppermint.”

It was a small eternity, his head held in his hands, his glasses dangling from his fingers while he rehearsed what he was going to say to his parents.

“Mum, Dad, Ron’s been eaten by an enormous three-headed dog. Swallowed whole. There was no body, I’m sorry.”

No, that didn’t sound good. 

“Mum, Dad, I need you to sit down. Ron had an accident while at school.”

No, that was worse.

“Mum, Dad, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Percy,” A familiar drawl called and the young prefect straightened, immediately standing up. He should feel more self conscious than he did, with his threadbare striped pajamas and hand-me-down boots, his glasses askew and smudged, his hair a rumpled mess. “Your brother is in the infirmary.”

Percy stared up at the Professor, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the man. “He’s… Is he…?”

“The youngest Mister Weasley will live to see a long and healthy life… provided he stay out of trouble after this.” Snape reached out and rested his hand on Percy’s shoulder. “He’s fine.”

This was not the time, place, situation, person, or entire experience that Percy had wanted for his first kiss. They were in Dumbledore’s office. His brother had just had a life threatening experience. It was the middle of the night. Percy was fifteen years old, no doubt half the age of Professor Snape. His mouth probably tasted like stale sleep-breath and he regretted not taking one of the offered peppermints. 

He was also struck by how he was right: Snape tasted like Moly and firewhiskey and something else that Percy couldn’t place, it merely tasted… Herbal.

When they parted, Snape’s eyes were wide, round, startled, and Percy felt his own face flush as he stared up at the man. 

“Thank you.” He managed to choke out, uncertain of what he was thanking the man for, before he bolted for the door and down the stairs. His heart was pounding again, and he was sure he’d give himself a coronary by seventeen if he kept this up. 

Whether or not the heavy rhythm of his heart was due to Ronald’s mischief or his own ill-thought out actions towards his Professor… Percy wasn’t sure.


	2. Abditory: (n.) a place into which you can disappear, a hiding place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and the Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle

There was tongue tracing at his lips and chilled fingers rubbing over his shoulders, down his back, gripping at his waist, his hips, his-

Percy gasped and shivered, biting his lip as his head tilted back, feeling the cool air of the Dungeons ghosting over his wet lips and sending chills along his spine as he reached up and tangled his fingers in long, dark hair. This was wrong. Very wrong. Percy clawed at thick woolen robes, dragging the leanly muscled figure closer, as if he might be able to give some of his own warmth to the freezing cold skin. 

“Fuck,” Percy gasped, his eyes rolling back as he felt himself falling back against something… Something unknown. It didn’t matter. 

“Percy,” Snape’s voice drawled over Percy’s skin and Percy shivered and whined. “Percy, you need to wake up.”

“What?” Percy’s eyes snapped open and instead of the stone ceiling of the Dungeon, he was staring at his own ceiling. 

“Percy, you’ve nearly slept the day away!” Molly’s voice called and Percy sat bolt upright in his bed, staring at the window overlooking the green land surrounding the Burrow. 

“Thanks, mum,” Percy called weakly, rubbing at his eyes before he pulled on his glasses. “Fuck.” He whispered weakly, pulling his knees up to press his forehead to them, willing his erection away. “Fuck me, this is a bloody nightmare.”

* * *

Percy scowled as he stared at Harry Potter, sitting at the table in the Burrow. It took every ounce of self control to not curse the Horned God in front of his family. Percy served himself some crisp bacon and eggs, careful to take a smaller serving than he usually would. His mother wasn’t very good at alchemy and food cost money. 

“Oh, that must be Errol with the post,” Molly murmured as she looked out towards the window. Percy looked up and flinched when Errol slammed into the window. “Percy, dear, go and fetch the mail.”

Percy retrieved the letter from Errol, the owl stumbling and trying to regain his sense of balance. Percy gave Errol an owl treat and then moved to sit back at the table. “Our Hogwarts lists,” Percy announced as he pulled the papers out. “They even sent us Harry’s.”

“Long list, this year,” George said as he peered at his list of books. 

“We’ll manage, we always do.”

Percy thought of tutoring money and sighed as he looked down at his own list. Maybe if he got a cheaper fabric he could buy a new set of robes. Ones that were not several inches above his ankles or worn at the armpits. 

“There’s only one place we can get all this,” Molly smiled down at Harry and squeezed his shoulder. “Diagon Alley.”

The group got dressed, cleaned up, and Percy watched as his mother encouraged Harry through his first trip through the floo. Percy hoped he didn’t end up someplace he wasn’t meant to be, his mother would have a conniption if anything happened to the boy on her watch.

Percy stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and made his way through to Diagon Alley, his siblings already stampeding through the streets like a heard of elephants. Flourish and Blotts was packed to the brim and when Molly came through the door she immediately shooed them off. “Find any additional books, you all know what we have to spare, so anything extra, pick it out!”

The Weasleys scattered, and Percy couldn’t help but frown when he saw his father greeting and explaining, in eager and excited tones, the process by which magical books were enchanted to the Grangers. He truly was embarrassing at the worst of times, especially when he got on a tangent.

Percy ran his fingers over the spines of books, picking up a new copy of Advanced Potions. It was crisp and freshly printed and Percy held the weight in his hand and then placed it aside. Professor Snape knew how expensive those books were, he always had additional potions books for loan. Percy wasn’t sure how he’d fare with Advanced Potions this year, or if he’d end up failing out of his classes because he couldn’t look Snape in the eye or keep his hands steady. Shaking the errant thoughts of his Professor, Percy took a deep breath and looked over at the blank diaries lining one wall. Fine leather and dragonhide and even pressed wooden book covers of a variety of styles and designs were all perfectly beautiful and lovely and so. Very. Expensive.

Percy sighed. His own diary would have to last him another few months until he could afford to replace it. Some tutoring money would buy him one in Hogsmeade soon enough. Percy let his fingers slide away from the edge of the shelf, instead clutching the potions book to his chest. He found another book on his list, wandering around the shelves, his fingers brushing over the spines as he listed off author surnames alphabetically. 

_Hadrian, Hankle, Harkness, Heull, Hindlebaum, Hoat, Hoauv, Holmes, House, Hume…_

“… tatty hand me down books… You must be the Weasleys,” Percy peered over the stack of books, staring at the man that loomed over his sister. Ginny was giving Lucius Malfoy the most vicious, murderous stare that Percy could imagine, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were flanking her protectively. Arthur came over to the children, smiling encouragingly to try and coax them out of the shop before a full out fight started in the shop. Percy curled his finger around the edge of the bookshelf, watching Lucius Malfoy’s hands for any wand movement, any blows thrown. Instead, he frowned when something strange happened. He placed Ginny’s book back into her cauldron, and a second book was tucked in alongside the first. 

Percy kept that thought in the back of his mind, all through their shopping for supplies, for robes for his siblings, for more supplies for the owls and Scabbers, and then for ice cream for the exhausted gaggle of children. 

Sitting beside Ginny at Fortescue’s Percy glanced at her cauldron and frowned, “Gin?”

“Yeah, Tonic?” The girl shot back, smiling into her ice cream cone as Percy snorted into his own, lips pursed to keep from laughing at the rather cheeky nickname she had taken to calling him.

“Where’d you get that?” Percy asked, gesturing to the diary. 

Ginny blinked, then frowned as she noticed the diary. Percy reached into the the cauldron and pulled the diary out, feeling a faint tingle moving up from his fingertips as he touched the cover. It was worn and the cover was cracked in several places as if it had been well used. 

“Flourish and Blotts doesn’t sell used diaries, does it?” Ginny asked as she turned to face her brother a bit more fully, curious despite herself. “Look, it’s even got a name on it.” She pointed at the back of the cover and Percy flipped it over, reading the name there.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Percy frowned, staring at the name before he flicked it open, ruffling the pages. “There’s nothing written in here. Not even a first paltry entry.” Percy had ripped out his fair share of those with used diaries, but this was strange by second-hand standards. 

“Weird,” Ginny shrugged. “I didn’t pick it up… Oh no…” She flushed and looked up at Percy. “I swear I didn’t steal it, Percy! Oh no… Oh, Mum is going to be _livid_ with me!”

“Don’t worry about it, Ginny,” Percy took the diary in hand and slid it among his own books. “I’ll take it back and explain the situation.”

“You’d do that?” Ginny looked up at him and Percy smiled, giving her a soft pat on her hard head. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, Gin.” He stood, his ice cream cone still grasped firmly in hand, and made his way through the crowded streets. Back in Flourish and Blotts he waited for nearly half an hour to speak to Fiddlestien, the dark haired man with his curly hair coiled and waxed into an elaborate style. 

He smiled as he looked at Percy. “Mister Weasley, is it?”

“Yeah,” Percy held out the diary to Fiddlestein and cleared his throat. “Do you know if you sell second hand diaries? My sister seemed to have accidentally acquired this and we have no idea from where.”

“Oh, no, Mister Weasley, we don’t sell second hand diaries,” Fiddlestein looked at the diary with a snort. “Especially not anything so damaged.” He turned it over and shook his head. “And definitely not if it’s already monogrammed like that. Hard to resell things like that, I doubt anywhere in Diagon Alley would even try.”

Percy nodded as he picked up the book. “Thank you for confirming that, Mister Fiddlestein.” He stroked his fingers over the cover. “Could you… Could you tell me how old this diary is?”

“Hmm…” Fiddlestein removed his wand from behind his ear and tapped it upon the cover. “Libra Aetate.” The book jolted for a moment and Fiddlestein raised a brow. “That’s odd…”

“What?”

“It… Can’t really tell. Must be another enchantment already on it that prevents that,” Fiddlestein shrugged and smiled at Percy. “Anything else?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Percy took the diary in hand and turned it over. “Thank you, Fiddlestein.”

Walking out of the shop he made his way back through to Fortescue’s. Percy frowned when he entered the shop and saw that his family were all gone. 

“Little Percy!” Fortescue smiled as he looked at Percy. “Left behind again, eh? It’s been about four years since you were last forgotten here!”

“Thank you for reminding me of that, Fortescue,” Percy didn’t bother smiling at the man. “How long have they been gone?”

“About five minutes, you just missed them.”

“Thank you,” Percy turned sharply and left the shop, making his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. He caught sight of Lucius Malfoy staring at him in the reflection of Twilfitt and Tattings’ window. He hesitated, meeting the man’s icy gaze in the reflection before he continued on his way, clutching the diary just a bit closer to his chest. Percy squared his shoulders and strode to the shop’s front door, opening it and sweeping in. 

“How can I be of assistance?” The tailor inside was a slim, androgynous figure with sweeping, bright orange eyeshadow matched with turquoise eyeliner and lipstick. 

“Um, I need some Gryffindor school robes, please,” Percy cleared his throat. “How much would that be?”

“Let’s see…” The tailor flicked their wand at the till and it did the calculations. “That would be seventeen galleons per robe.”

Percy swallowed tightly and nodded. “Seventeen galleons.”

The tailor glanced at Percy and gave a raised brow. “But I suppose I can let you front the cost for say… One and a half robes? Pay for the other one and a half in installments?”

Percy nodded eagerly, smiling at the tailor’s generosity. “I could definitely do that.”

“Excellent, let’s get some measurements.”

Percy stood on the small pedestal and moved as directed, trying to ignore the jingling of the shop bell, heralding the entrance of another customer. Percy glanced in one of the numerous mirrors surrounding him, seeing dozens of Lucius Malfoys peering at him.

“Mister Malfoy, I will see you in a few moments,” The tailor smiled over their shoulder and Percy tried not to swallow nervously at the sight of the man prowling in the shop. 

“Take your time,” Malfoy said, fingering at various fabrics. “Mister Weasley here has never had anything so fine made for him. He should savor the moment, it is the first, and possibly last time he’ll be able to experience it.”

Percy stared at Malfoy’s face in the reflection and narrowed his eyes. He gave the barest twitch of his lips in an attempt at a polite smile. “Perhaps I’ll just get a taste for it, Mister Malfoy?” Percy looked at himself in the mirror. “I happen to like nice things, and the fact that I have to work harder for them makes me like them even more.”

In a few moments, Percy was rung up, and the tailor was handing him his receipt. “Your order will arrive by owl soon.”

“Thank you,” Percy turned, only to find his pathway blocked by Malfoy’s broad bulk. Percy’s green eyes met Malfoy’s blue and he refused to blink or divert his gaze. “Excuse me, Mister Malfoy, I need to be somewhere.”

Percy wasn’t sure if his boldness, or the fact that a Weasley had all but told the man to get out of his way, was what made Malfoy startle and blink at him before he slid aside. Percy felt a thrill of something strange, a sort of power he had not expected to feel, something dark, inside him.

When he walked to the floo of the Leaky Cauldron he walked straighter than he had before.

* * *

The robes were in tatters. Percy froze as he stared at them, draped over his shoulders on the empty platform. He had summoned his robes, had been fully prepared to show them off. The first years were long gone, the others herded by the other prefects to the Great Hall. Percy remained behind, staring at his robes and choking on his own breath. 

“Mister Weasley,” Filch growled as he finished loading student luggage onto the last carriage. “Come along, no dwaddlin’.”

Percy rode beside Filch, Mrs. Norris sitting between them, staring up at Percy with her golden gaze as if he was something disgusting her master had to clean up. The trip was bumpier because the luggage carriages were not quite as well made. When they arrived at the castle, Percy took a moment before he looked at the piles of luggage and the old man cursing and muttering as he struggled to unload it alone without the aid of magic.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” He murmured, watching the way the luggage floated delicately off of the carriage then onto the ground. “Thank you, Mister Filch.”

Filch gave him a level stare before he grunted and turned away. “Be on your way, Mister Weasley.”

Percy obeyed, nodding his head to the aged caretaker before he ascended the steps of the castle. It was dark outside the castle, but brightly lit within and Percy felt even more exposed as he made his way through the halls to Gryffindor tower. He could check his other robes, see if anything had survived. Maybe repair these ones before the end of the feast. 

“Mister Weasley.”

Percy froze and stared ahead before he slowly turned, trying to move as little as possible. “Professor Snape.” He whispered, looking up at the man. 

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” The man reached out and grasped at Percy’s ragged robes. “This is hardly an appropriate garb for a Prefect.” Percy choked on his own breath for a moment at how close the man was, even if it was not in the best circumstances. “Detention, Mister Weasley.” Snape murmured, releasing Percy and waving his wand at him. The robes were repaired to their former glory and Percy stared up at Snape as the man looked him over. With a flick of his wand at Percy’s wide-brimmed hat, he turned away to make his way to the Great Hall. 

Percy hesitated for a moment before he reached up and removed his hat from his head, checking it over. The seams were repaired, the golden lion-shaped and red-colored pins were cleaned, but other than that everything seemed in order. Percy paused, however, and stared at a new pin added to his hat. It was a golden serpent with rubies for eyes. It was a small pin, but Percy smiled and left it in place. No one paid attention to his hat’s pins anyway.

* * *

“Reach deep inside yourselves and look into the beyond!”

Percy had reached about his limit of the beyond. Divination was an easy grade, as everything was subjective, and he had spent quite a bit of time randomly cherry picking the things he was seeing in his various forms of divination. This semester they were working with Tarot cards and he had purchased a set in Diagon Alley with the intention of charming them to give him their meanings automatically. 

But now… Memorization had always been soothing, and there were 78 cards and each card had the upright and reverse meanings, so that was 156 meanings that he could spend time memorizing. They were starting with only the Major Arcana with a five-card spread meant to give a general idea of the future of the dealer.

Percy shuffled his cards, breathing deeply and thinking of what his future might hold. 

“Where am I now?” He asked the first card and dealt it upon the purple cloth-covered table. The Moon, Reversed. Percy flicked through his guide to the tarot and frowned as he cramped his handwriting into the rapidly dwindling pages of his diary. _The Moon (Reversed) indicates that I have come to a revelation about sabotage and deceptions that have taken place in my life, that there is trickery that I have been made aware of._

Well… That was… Positive. In it’s own way… Percy frowned and tapped his fingers upon the deck before he drew the next card. “What is my strength?” He asked the card and smirked to himself when the saw The Chariot in its upright position. He picked up his quill and wrote out, _The Chariot (Upright) indicates that my strength lies in my strong ambitions and motivation, that I am assertive with my goals and desires and have no fear of taking what I want._

“What is my weakness?” Percy flicked the next card down, not even sure what to expect from this card, frowning at the card he placed next to the first two. _The Hermit (Reversed) indicates that I experience loneliness and isolation beyond that of the norm for even solitary souls. This card also could indicate that I’ve lost my way._ It wasn’t very encouraging to read that your weakness was that you were too self-reliant… But he supposed it was accurate.

Percy tapped his quill upon the corner of his diary for a few moments, reading the three cards currently lined up before he reached out with his free hand and asked, “Where am I coming from?” He wasn’t sure what this question meant, but it seemed that the answer gave some context to the question. _The Empress (Reversed) indicates that my previous situation offers a security that might seem enticing, but actually has the potential to be smothering and form a dependence on people or situations that are counterintuitive to my goals._ It didn’t take much for Percy to think of his family. Holding him back.

He wasn’t sure why his heart started to pound in his chest as he whispered, quieter than before, “Where am I going?” He stared at the card in his hand, showing a screaming goat’s head on the body of a person of indeterminate gender, holding chains that wrapped around the necks of a man and woman kneeling before the figure. He placed it down and turned the pages of his book until he came upon the appropriate page.

_The Devil (Upright) indicates oppression, addiction, obsession, dependency, excess, powerlessness, and limitations… This reading indicates that I will be caught in a situation where I will be helpless to leave… But might not wish to._

* * *

“Are you alright, Percy?” Penelope whispered as they sat in an empty classroom, elbows touching while they quietly worked on homework together. “It’s just that… Um…” She flushed and fingered at the sleeve of her rich blue robes. “You’ve been a bit odd lately.”

Percy glanced at her and cleared his throat. “I’ve been very worried about studying for N.E.W.T.S..” He looked down at his nearly full diary. He only had two more pages to fill with notes before he’d need to start the new one.

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Penelope inched her hand over to Percy’s, their fingers tangling as he dropped his quill and looked over at her. She was perfect, with her blonde ringlets and blue eyes and pretty features. “You know you don’t have to be so shy, Percy.” She murmured as she looked up at him, her perfect cupid’s bow lips curved into a gentle smile. “You can kiss me.”

Percy hesitated, staring at her, thinking of how she was so different from the man that had occupied his dreams, his exact opposite in every way. He leaned in for a kiss, and Penelope easily submitted to it, her lips curving into a smile as she cupped his cheeks and drew him closer, closer, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as Percy pressed his mouth more firmly to hers. 

This was right. It had to be. It needed to be right.

Penelope gasped when he bit her lower lip, jerking back sharply to stare at him. “Percy!” She yelped, and Percy dove in for another kiss, tasting the blood and soothing the bite with his tongue instinctively. “Percy, stop that!” Penelope shoved at his shoulders and Percy reeled back, stumbling to his feet as he stepped away from Penelope. “Percy-”

“I’m sorry,” Percy said as he stared at her, her lipstick smudged with her own blood, before he turned and gathered up his things. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Percy-” Penelope stood and smiled at him, forgiving and gentle and sweet as always. “Percy, it’s alright.”

“No.” Percy stared at her and let out a shuddering breath. “No, I… I’m sorry.” He shoved his books into his bag and turned tail like a coward. “I’m sorry.”

He made it back to Gryffindor Tower and then to the Prefect chambers. Delia tried to talk to him as well as Charles Antbury, but Percy just shook his head and silently made his way to the boy’s side of the Prefect Dormitory. His was the third bed in the room, the one furthest from the door, it gave him a sense of privacy. 

Percy sat on his bed and drew the curtains tightly, staring at the thick red velvet interspersed with golden stars. He thought of Penelope and her sweet smile, her pretty face. He laid on his bed and thought of her lips and how they looked so perfect, but felt so wrong. He didn’t bother changing from his robes, didn’t bother even placing his possessions aside as he laid on the bed, curled up on his side, haunted by the feeling of cool lips against his.

Percy closed his eyes tightly and whispered, “Fuck… Well, Percy, you couldn’t blast your life to pieces any better if you used Bombarda.” He gave a soft snort before he closed his eyes and drew his robes closer about his body, like they might protect him from his own thoughts and failings.

It was well past midnight when Percy jolted awake atop his sheets, the curtains of his bed still drawn tightly. Charles and Pollux were in their beds, snoring away, and Percy rubbed at his eyes, feeling the way the earpieces of his glasses were bent out of shape from him laying his head on his pillow. Percy looked down at his book bag and sighed, straightening to push the flap up and search through it. 

Percy hissed slightly when he felt a jolt of something startle his fingers. Thinking it was one of Fred and George’s Zonkos products, he closed his fingers around the item and straightened, drawing his arm out. Instead of some sort of shocking pygmypuff plush or a stray licorice snap, he pulled out the cracked leather cover of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s diary. Strange, Percy thought as he stared at the embossed name on the back cover before he sighed and flicked it open, but at least it was what he had been looking for. He collected his quill and cast an inking charm upon it before he opened it up and began to write. 

_If Found Return To Percival Weasley_

He moved to flick to the next page, only to hesitate when he saw the ink soak into the page and vanish. Frowning, Percy ran his fingers over the bone dry page, turning the page back and forth to check if it had leaked or soaked through to the other pages. 

“Strange,” he whispered to himself, flicking to a new page. 

_Class List_

_Monday-_

Percy jumped when the ink vanished just as the previous ink had done, frowning as he placed his quill down and rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. There was something wrong and he couldn’t name it. He tried to think of why Lucius Malfoy would have slipped the diary to Ginny and couldn’t think of anything too sinister, merely that it was a means of causing confusion and run the risk of failing classes. 

The tip of the quill pressed to the page and Percy wrote, _My name is Percival Ignatius Weasley, I am in my Sixth Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

The ink soaked through and then, something new happened. 

_Hello, Percival, my name is Tom Riddle._

* * *

Percy had never quite had friends before. He had peers, he had what he might have considered colleagues in his fellow Prefects, and he of course had siblings, but never friends. Even Penelope, who had been more than happy to flirt and play at boyfriend and girlfriend had stopped spending time with him after it had become clear that Percy wasn’t inclined to keep kissing her and playing at romance with her.

Percy sighed as he sat in Detention with Professor Snape, the man tending to a cauldron while Percy graded papers for him. Percy’s own sounds interspersed with the man’s work. The click of Percy opening each tube to withdraw the contents, the scratch of his black quill, dipped in Snape’s scarlet grading ink, and the snap of Percy closing the graded paper into the metal tubes. They were part of a quiet little symphony alongside the sound of potion making. Crushing, cutting, dripping, stirring, bubbling, and Percy’s own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It had been like that for the last two weeks back in class, every potions class he couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t even focus on instructions from the Professor himself because his heart was so loud it filled his head and made everything feel muffled and distant.

He was grateful that he had one of Snape’s extra textbooks to rely on for instruction, but he was sure that the Professor was even more annoyed because of that. 

When he wasn’t in classes or serving detention, he was writing to his new friend in the diary. Asking questions, advice, confiding secrets to its pages.

_I know my family don’t understand me. I know that I’m not meant to be some low level bureaucrat barely scraping by… I just wish other people would see it too._

Percy sat back in one of the soft, squishy chairs in the Gryffindor Prefect common room, his report on Amortentia left abandoned atop his half-finished report on Animagi and the elements of the process and how they interacted with one another. He wondered what he had been thinking, considering becoming an Animagi. 

Ink welled up on the page of the diary and Percy looked at the words. 

_I understand. I wanted more than my peers._

Percy frowned and picked up the quill. The side of his palm felt a small shock of magic as he rested it upon the open page of the book.

_What about your family?_

Another long moment, this time longer than usual, and Percy worried his lower lip before he scrawled out.

_I’m sorry, that was rude of me._

Ink welled up.

_I am an orphan._

Percy felt his heart still for a moment before he wrote out.

_I’m sorry. I can’t imagine not having my family._

_It’s fine. Not having family to hold me back has allowed me to excel without having to worry about the opinions and expectations of others._

Percy worried the skin of his inner cheek between his teeth, tasting blood, before he wrote.

_I broke up with Penny Clearwater. I think my family will be disappointed. She was a very nice girl._

Percy tried not to think of how his mother would have loved the idea of Grandchildren. Bill had yet to settle down, Charlie was obsessed with his dragons, and Percy was the next in line to take on that responsibility.

_She would have held you back._

Percy thought about it, silently agreeing. 

_Have you ever been in love, Tom?_

_No._

Percy figured that was a sign that the conversation was over, but he couldn’t leave it at that. 

_I have to finish my reports, goodnight, Tom._ He hesitated, his quill hovering over the page. _You’re a good friend, Tom._

_As are you, Percival._

* * *

Where was he?

Percy stared up at the ceiling above him, and recognized the low, claustrophobic ceilings as being the office where Professor Snape held his detentions. He was sweating, his back sticking to something that wasn’t his clothes, a desk maybe? No, the worktable that Percy had lined up all of the graded papers for detention upon, sorted by house and year. 

Why was he here?

Percy felt a jolt and a bolt of something that was not quite good but not bad either, his head falling back in a choked gasp at the feeling ricocheting through his body. His head tilted back towards his chest and his eyes met layer upon layer of dark fabric. Intricate black embroidery on black wool and a line of buttons down a thin, lean chest. 

“P-Professor-” Percy managed to gasp out, only to be pinned in place by those dark, fathomless eyes. 

The man was moving against him roughly, his lips pressed hard and demanding against Percy’s neck and Percy couldn’t for the life of him remember how they got here. What conversation had to have transpired in order for him to end up with his legs spread around Professor Snape’s waist. How he could have possibly ended up with the man’s thin, strong fingers gripping at one of Percy’s wrists, keeping it pinned to the desk. 

“Pro-Professor Snape-”

“Severus,” The man growled out and Percy gasped at the sharp thrust of the man’s hips against his own. The entire situation sent Percy reeling as his free hand reached up to tangle in the shoulder of the man’s cloak. “My name is Severus.”

Percy’s eyes fluttered shut and he hissed, “Severus.” His fingers yanked and Snape - Severus, the man before him couldn’t be Professor Snape, he had to be Severus or else Percy’s whole world might unravel - Severus pressed closer to Percy, his free hand sliding up over Percy’s thigh, his hip, clawing at his bare waist, until he slid his palm around to the boy’s tender stomach. “Oh… Oh, fuck-” Percy choked out at the first touch of a hand that was not his own upon his length. 

“Language,” Severus chided and Percy paused before he saw the man’s smirk, the glint of humor in his eyes. “Or else I’ll have to extend your detentions.”

Percy felt his heart leap into his throat. He didn’t know how he had come into this situation, but he knew that he couldn’t let it continue. It had ramifications both for him and for his Professor. It had to be just this once. 

So why not enjoy it?

Percy lunged forward, grabbing at the man’s long, lank hair, kissing him deeply, their teeth clashing with Percy’s eagerness. Severus tilted his head and fit their mouths closer together, and Percy could feel the man’s tongue gliding into his own mouth, exploring and tasting Percy just as eagerly as Percy tasted Severus. 

Moly and firewhiskey and something Percy couldn’t place but had been craving for months since the last time they had kissed. Something he was sure he’d dream about for the rest of his life after this. 

The man’s pace picked up and Percy gasped and writhed, his legs wrapped around Severus’ waist, his ankles crossed just behind the man’s thighs to keep him close as Percy whined and felt the man’s hand stroke him faster, more firmly, matching the demanding pace of their bodies clashing together. 

“Fuck!” Percy’s head fell back and he stiffened, his back arching as he clawed at Severus’ shoulder, his nails dragging over coarse, warm wool embroidered with protective runes. His nails snagged on the designs as he whined, his chest heaved, and he came with a squirm and aborted thrust of his hips. There was blood on his teeth and Percy ran his tongue over them as his head lolled over the hard surface of the work table. He held his breath and stared down at Severus as the man leaned back and watched him, fucked him, and then groaned when Percy rolled his hips against the man’s encouragingly.

Severus’ forehead pressed to Percy’s stomach as he hunched over the boy, the hand he had wrapped around Percy’s length smeared with come, leaving a wet trail on the work table as the man tried to keep himself upright. His hips thrust once, twice, three times more before he groaned and pressed the noise into Percy’s stomach, panting through his own orgasm. They stayed like that for a long moment, Severus - no, he was Professor Snape now, he had to be - Professor Snape kissed over Percy’s ribs, his lips against each prominent bone of his skinny frame before the man straightened and stared down at Percy. 

They were silent for a few long moments before the man pulled back and Percy shivered at the feeling of suddenly being so empty. Snape gave a wave of his wand and in moments they were both spotlessly clean, Percy’s glasses were righted on his face, and his clothes were back on his body, his shirt perfectly tucked. He forced himself back up onto his elbows, refusing to be the first one to break the eye contact. 

“I’ll escort you out of the Dungeons,” The man finally said, breaking the silence. When Percy nodded and straightened Professor Snape turned away and strode to the door. Percy couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, what thoughts were lurking behind the man’s eyes. 

They parted ways at th top of the stairs leading into the Dungeons, and Percy made his way towards Gryffindor tower, hoping that no extracurriculars were about to be let out. He froze when he saw Ron, Harry, and Hermione standing in front of a wall dripping with blood, Mister Filch’s hand tangled in Harry’s shirt collar. 

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR… BEWARE._

Percy froze as he stared at the handwriting upon the wall, his chest tight as he looked at his brother and the younger boy’s friends. “Ron, what is the meaning of this?” He choked out, trying not to think about how the handwriting looked so familiar, how he could have sworn it was something he had seen before. So recently it was painful to not pinpoint it.

“Percy, it wasn’t us, I swear,” Ron choked out as the halls flooded with students making their way to dormitories and teachers coming to inspect the commotion that it was causing. 

Percy looked over when he heard Dumbledore’s voice call out, “Argus.”

Percy rested his hand on Ron’s shoulder, looking up at Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape as the three of them stood, observing the scene before them. “This boy killed my cat, Headmaster,” Filch’s voice wavered as he stared at the Professors. “I want to see some punishment!”

“She is not dead, Argus, merely petrified,” Dumbledore said simply, looking at the cat carefully before he gently removed her from where she was strung up by her stiff tail. “As it happens, our own Professor Sprout has some mandrakes that will soon be ready for harvesting in order to cure this particular ailment.”

Filch took his cat into his arms gently and Percy drew Ron’s own body closer to his own, trying to put some distance between the angry caretaker and his little brother. 

Professor Snape looked worried, his brows were pinched tightly, but Percy knew better than to try and speak to the man in front of the others. Now was not the time or place, and Percy worried about the answer he might get.

* * *

This was not a good idea. Percy was certain it was not good to continue to allow this to happen. If only he could figure out what was causing the blackouts he might feel a bit more confident going to Madam Pomfrey. Or even confiding them to the Professor currently stroking over his body, kissing and biting and exploring the curve of Percy’s back and shoulders while Percy rested his cheek upon the hard wood of the work table. 

“Severus,” Percy gasped, shivering as the familiar cottony feeling of his mouth gave way to a rush of saliva. “Wait, wait, Severus-” A slim finger pressed into him and Percy’s voice cracked as he rocked back against the man’s hand, feeling clever digits knead and rub at his walls like they were searching for something. “Oh… Oh fuck… Severus, wait, I need to-” Percy’s head hung between his shoulders as the man touched something new inside him, something that made Percy’s knees buckle as he laid flat on the table. The feeling of Severus’ robes brushing against the bare backs of his thighs drove him to distraction almost as badly as the way the man tormented that one spot inside him. “Just like that.” Percy whined. “Please, Severus, just like that.”

His glasses were beyond fogged up, rendering him essentially blind, and Percy’s nails dragged over the surface of the table, rendering deep gouges in the smooth wood. He wasn’t deaf, however, to the groans of the man behind him. The ends of Severus’ hair tickled at Percy’s shoulderblades and he shivered, biting his lower lip as the sharp edges of the man’s crooked teeth brushed over Percy’s shoulder

“I have one question,” Severus’ voice was imprinted upon Percy’s very bones now, with how his thin lips whispered against his skin. “Why are you here?”

Percy flushed and turned his head, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep his eyes open. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly, more honest and accurate than he realized. 

Severus hummed and let his fingers slip free of Percy’s body with a wet sound that made him shiver and press closer to the man’s groin on instinct. “Do you want to leave?”

It was a clear out. It was an offer that he should take. 

“No.” Percy whispered, before he could properly think the offer through. “Please, Severus, just fuck me.”

He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to worry, he just wanted this closeness, the touch of someone else that was more than just perfunctory. It seemed that Severus wanted the same. He pressed his chest flush to Percy’s back and in a moment his robes were bunched up against Percy’s hip, giving his student something to grasp tightly. Percy whined at the feeling of the man’s cock pressed where his fingers were moments ago, feeling a chill of delight go up his spine as Severus groaned and pressed his palms to Percy’s slim hips.

“You’re perfect,” The man whispered and Percy shook as he tilted his head, looking up at Severus.

“Say that again,” He demanded, his grip on Severus’ robes turning tighter as if to keep the man from escaping him. “Severus, please.”

A sly smirk edged towards a grin and Severus leaned over Percy, his cloak eclipsing Percy’s body as a lean arm rested just above Percy’s shoulder, sliding under his collarbone to cradle him close as Severus whispered right into his ear. “You’re perfect.”

“Again,” Percy whined, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head to let the man’s face press to his slender neck. “Please.”

“You’re perfect, Percy,” Severus’ low drawl turned teasing and Percy shuddered, bucking back against the man as he felt his orgasm rip through him, leaving his legs shaking and unable to even keep him upright. The sight must have had an affect on Severus, because the man pressed a kiss to Percy’s jaw to muffle his own moan, pressing their hips together firmly. 

They laid together for a moment, panting against one another and Percy shivered, reaching up to grasp at the man’s cloak, pulling it tighter around their bodies. Severus let out a questioning noise, his hand soothing over Percy’s flank gently. “I’m scared.” Percy confessed softly, offering no additional context to the statement. 

There was a long silence, and then Severus whispered, “Nothing will happen to you or your siblings. I swear it.”

Percy looked up at the man and for a moment there was a softness he was certain very few, if any, had ever seen before. Severus pulled back slowly, waved his wand, and percy’s body was cleaned and dressed once more. The two of them straightened and stood and Percy turned, Severus still standing so close that Percy’s nose could bump his chin. He kissed the man, softly, and in a moment Severus was once more Professor Snape.

They parted, and Percy smoothed his hands over the front of the man’s robes. He took in the dark embroidery on equally dark fabric, at the various buttons and clasps and laces before he looked up at Severus, his hands resting upon the man’s waist. There was a lot he could say, so much he probably should tell him.

About the diary. The blackouts. Everything. 

Instead he kissed the man again and left the room.

He was wandering the Dungeon hallways, still struggling with the confusing maze of walls and corridors that seemed to make no sense to anyone save those of Slytherin house. He thought about the Chamber of Secrets, how he had read so little of it in the library but for some reason felt he knew too much about it. He thought about overheard whispers from Ron, Harry, and Hermione, their suspicions that it was Draco Malfoy. 

Percy had his doubts. Lucius Malfoy was more than capable of things that Percy wasn’t sure he wanted to know about, but Draco was still only a boy. His hatred was learned, but Percy couldn’t imagine him capable of making an attempt on the lives of Penelope Clearwater, Colin Creevey, or Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Percy caught sight of two lumbering figures and frowned. “Excuse me.” He called out sternly, making his way briskly over.

“What are you doing here?” One of the boys asked in a voice that made Percy frown suspiciously. It sounded almost exactly like Ron, maybe a little huskier, but Ron’s voice had just started to crack that year. Maybe this boy was suffering the same.

“I happen to be a school Prefect,” He raised a brow at the two. “You, on the other hand, have no business wandering the corridors at this hour.” He squinted at the two guilty looking faces. “What were your names again?”

“I… Um… He…” The two of them fumbled and pointed at one another dimly. 

“Crabbe, Goyle, there you are!” Percy’s head shot up as Draco Malfoy came sweeping over, doing his best imitation of his head of house. It looked quite like a sparrow trying to imitate an enormous vampire bat. 

“What are you doing here, Weasley?” The boy sneered and Percy felt his own lip curl as he looked down at the boy.

“My duties,” He scoffed. “Get to your common rooms, all three of you.” He swept past them. “Or I’ll be speaking to your head of house.”

“As if Snape would listen to you!” Draco called, clearly trying to come up with a name even as Percy walked away dismissively. 

Percy couldn’t help but smile to himself. If only they knew just how much Severus Snape listened to him.

* * *

Lupercalia was always a small torment, but Percy absolutely could not handle Gilderoy Lockhart’s attempt to integrate muggle culture into the holiday. 

The man had hired a team of dwarves, dressed in loincloths and feather wings to deliver poetic Valentines to students and teachers alike. 

Professor Lockhart himself had gotten dozens of said Valentines and was clearly basking in the admiration of the older students. Percy scoffed and rolled his eyes as he sat in Muggle Studies, listening to Professor Burbage talk about Muggles and why they called Lupercalia Valentine’s Day. 

“The Ressurectionists, otherwise known as the Eternalists or Theists by some branches of Wizarding Academia, tell the story of a man named Saint Valentine of Rome, who was put to death in Rome for being a Ressurectionist during the time. Now, if you’ll recall our previous essay on Ressurectionism and their co-opting of Pagan holidays, you’ll understand why Ressurectionists chose the Pagan holiday of Lupercalia, which celebrates the werewolf mother of the muggle Romulus and the magical Remus and their subsequent rise to power.”

A hand shot up and Percy glanced up as Professor Burbage looked at the student, indicating with her wand for them to speak up. “So… If all Ressurectionist holidays are actually Pagan holidays… Why are the Ressurectionist holidays the ones remembered?”

“Excellent question, Mister Oxenfree, ten points to Hufflepuff,” Professor Burbage smiled at strode down the aisle of desks. “Now, in Professor Binns’ class you have gone through the history of magic and magical law, who can tell me when the International Statute of Secrecy was first implemented?”

A few hands shot up, including Percy’s. 

“Mister Weasley?”

“If you count the year when the Statute was first instituted the year was 1689, but it was not fully put into effect until 1692.” Percy explained clearly. “The statute was implemented in direct relation to the Salem Massachusetts Witch Trials.”

“Exactly, ten points to Gryffindor,” Professor Burbage laced her fingers together, her wand tucked behind her ear as she paced. “And what else was a result of that event in our joint Wizarding and Muggle history?” Another hand shot up, and Professor Burbage gestured. “Miss Blacklock?”

“Um, well, that’s the founding of the Ministry of Magic, right?”

“Ten points to Hufflepuff,” Professor Burbage smiled broadly. “I have a bright class this year, don’t I?” She removed her wand from behind her ear and gestured to the chalkboard. “I would like an essay from each of you regarding Lupercalia and why you believe Muggles have held onto the Ressurecitonist version of the holiday rather than the original Pagan. For those of you with Muggle parents, feel free to interview your parents for this report.”

The clock sounded and Percy stacked his books then slid them into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Everyone enjoy the Lupercalia feasts this weekend, and remember that if you wish to partake in the rites you still need signed permission from both your parents and heads of house.” 

There was whispering and tittering among the Seventh years as they left class, mingling with the flood of students. 

“Really, who would want to go out and celebrate Lupercalia with their _teachers_?” One girl giggled as she walked shoulder to shoulder with her friends in front of Percy. “Could you imagine seeing Professor Sprout strip down and run through the woods to frighten off evil spirits?”

“Or worse, Professor Snape?”

Percy was struck, unbidden, by the thought of seeing Professor Snape naked. It was a tempting thought, in all their intimate moments together, the most Percy ever saw was the pale skin of the man’s belly and occasionally a glimpse of the man’s cock. It was… Enough to make Percy regret not asking his parents permission for the Lupercalia celebration. Brushing that thought away, Percy made his way through the winding hallways until he found the correct path to Professor Snape’s office. 

Outside the office was a gaggle of dwarves dressed in Cupid costumes, singing dirty limmericks at the Professor’s door, and Percy felt embarrassed to realize that it was probably his own siblings who were responsible. He knocked on the door, and immediately was let in, even as the door closed so quickly it nearly caught the tail end of Percy’s robes. 

“Professor Snape,” Percy smiled as he looked at the man. Snape was glaring at the door just beyond Percy’s shoulder. “Happy Lupercalia.”

“Are they gone yet?”

“No,” Percy gave an apologetic look. “I’ll tell my brothers to call them off.”

“I’m sure some detention will correct the issue. Scrubbing cauldrons is character building.” Snape stood and walked over to Percy, his eyes narrowed as he stared down at the younger man. “Percy…” His fingers brushed over the brim of the young man’s bright red hat, brushing ever so slightly over the trail of golden pins that seemed to spill over the edge of the brim. “Something is wrong.”

Percy felt his smile crack a bit as he looked down. “A lot is wrong, isn’t it? With the… petrifications and the Heir of Slytherin and… Chamber of Secrets.”

They stood in silence together, Snape staring down at Percy, searching his face as if he could smell a lie, or a secret on Percy’s breath as surely as he could sniff out a stolen sip of firewhiskey. His eyes were all consuming and Percy tried not to think of the diary in his bag, his suspicions that have been growing about it, instead thinking of Lupercalia and the gift he had come to deliver. After a few moments Snape stepped back slightly, releasing the brim of Percy’s hat from his slim fingers. “You won’t be joining us for the Lupercalia celebrations this weekend.”

“No,” Percy cleared his throat and flushed. “I, um… I hadn’t thought that it would be in my best interest to attend at the beginning of the year. Now, though, I wish I’d gotten permission anyway.”

“Pity,” The man smirked down at Percy and stole a brief, cheeky kiss from Percy’s lips. “No detention this weekend, Percy, go celebrate with your friends.”

Percy bit his lower lip and smiled, before he reached into his book bagand gently removed a wide box wrapped in brown paper. “I got this as a gift for you.” Snape stared at Percy, then at the gift, and when he opened it he smiled at the small sets of bottles shaped like animals. A rat, a snake, a bat, a cat, and a few other small animal shapes were nestled among the papers. “They’re different types of whiskey.” Percy cleared his throat and looked up at the man. “I don’t know what kind of whiskey you liked, other than firewhiskey, but… The bottles were…”

“It’s a thoughtful gift,” Snape said simply, even as nothing changed of his expression except the barest twitch of the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Percy bowed his head to hide his flush, stole another kiss, and then slipped out of the Professor’s office.

* * *

There was the taste of blood on his teeth and Percy thought it must be one of his rough kisses shared with Snape. He froze when a feather stuck to his tongue and then more blood than the paltry bit he usually tasted. Crouched in a dark hallway, he stared down at the mangled body of Hagrid’s rooster, clutched in his hands. Percy threw the rooster aside and stumbled back, staring at the body before his head snapped up and he stared at his reflection in a dark window. 

He was covered in blood and feathers, one hand holding Tom Riddle’s diary clutched in his hand. His entire arm tingled and burned with a strange pain radiating up from where his fingers dug gouges in the cover of the diary.

Percy stared at the diary and opened it, not even bothering to try and find a quill as he shouted at the open pages. “What are you doing to me?!” He all but screamed, his voice cracking painfully at the volume. “What do you want?! Why are you doing this?!”

The diary remained blank and Percy sobbed as he stood, his knees weak as he tried not to collapse into a fit of anxiety. He heard footsteps coming quickly down the hall, the uneven gait clearly belonging to Filch, and Percy began to run.

He didn’t have a destination in mind, simply that he had to get away, had to escape, had to do something, anything. He ended up in Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, the book clutched in his hand as he stood in front of the sink. He turned on a water faucet and wiped blood from his face, from his arms, casting a countless number of cleaning spells on his clothing and hair even as his hand shook and his voice trembled. 

The water kept running, letting the sound rush over his ears in an attempt to drown out the sound of his own terrified thoughts running rampant in the space between his skull and brain. Percy’s green eyes slid from his reflection down to the diary in front of him and he gripped at the cover before he opened it and grabbed a page. 

Percy ripped out one page, then another, crumpling them in his grip as he paced the tiled floor, snarling and whispering to himself, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” He threw the diary into one of the stalls and then took off running, as if he could escape the voice inside his own head. 

He had a direction now.

When he came to his destination he pounded on the door and it immediately opened, revealing Severus’ sleepless face.

“Percy-” He whispered, stepping aside, and Percy immediately threw himself against the man’s chest, clinging to him tightly. Percy pressed his face to the man’s chest before he could see the disapproving stare. “What happened?” He could hear the confusion in the man’s voice even if it was only barely there.

How could he explain all of this? How could he even begin to tell the man about Malfoy at Diagon Alley, about the diary, about Tom Riddle and how Percy had been writing in the pages of the diary for months now, about the blackouts, about the dead rooster. 

“Severus,” Percy couldn’t force his voice louder than barely a breath. He couldn’t look the man in the eye. “Have you ever… Ever made a wrong choice? Or felt like you did something you couldn’t fix, that you… You’d do anything to go back and change things?” He ran his fingers over Severus’ chest, over the embroidery there, runes of protection in stitches carefully made. 

“Percy, what happened?” Severus held the young man at arm’s length. 

Percy shook his head, refusing to look up at the man. “I can’t… I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Thin fingers guided Percy’s chin up so that green eyes could meet black. “Tell me, Percy.”

“I can’t,” Percy choked on the words. “I… I can’t. You’ll hate me.”

Severus stared at the boy and after a moment pulled him close with a sigh and a frown, allowing Percy to cling to him tightly. It was probably the last time that Percy would ever have this embrace, this moment, and he intended to savor it.

“Whatever you have done… You still have time to correct it. But you must take action.”

Percy closed his eyes tightly and nodded. He thought of the destroyed diary and wondered, privately, if that would be enough.

* * *

Percy rubbed at the space between his eyebrows firmly, trying to chase away the splitting headache he had developed. Four months since he had thrown away Riddle’s diary. The blackouts had gotten worse. Climbing through the porthole into Gryffindor’s common room he froze at the sight of Harry Potter seated at one of the tables where students could do their homework late into the night. The boy was working on a Charms essay, but at his elbow was Tom Riddle’s diary, looking no worse than the day it had been slipped into Ginny’s cauldron. 

“Potter, go to bed,” Percy ordered, glaring at the boy. “Your homework will be there in the morning, it’s well past midnight now.”

“What were you doing out, then?” Harry asked as he looked up at Percy.

Percy wished he knew. He had blacked out and woken up in a random classroom. That was better than waking with a dead animal in his hand, or in Snape’s embrace without knowing the hows of how he had gotten there. 

“That’s none of your business, Harry,” Percy placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

Harry yawned, and after a moment he stood, nodding with a sulk. “Goodnight, Percy.”

“Goodnight,” Percy watched the boy pack his things, then climb up the stairs. 

He couldn’t let Harry keep that diary. There was no telling what might happen to the younger boy. 

And so, the next day he waited until the entire dormitory was empty due to classes and feigned ill to Professor Flitwick, who worriedly sent him off to rest for the day. Climbing up the spiraling stairs to the dorms of the first years at the very top of the tower, Percy glanced over and saw Hedwig’s cage, her nameplate on it and everything, perched right next to a neatly made bed. 

First was the bedside table, and without any care in the world except for finding the cursed diary he began to tear it apart. Drawers were strewn about, wood nearly ripped to pieces in an attempt to find a false bottom, then the pillows, the bedding, Harry’s trunk. Percy prayed that the diary wasn’t on the boy himself. Crouched down beside the bed, amongst a sea of feathers, fabric, and ripped pages, Percy looked at the pile of books beneath Harry’s bed and rummaged through them. 

When his fingers closed around the diary’s cover he let out a scream of agony at the burning electric shock, as if he had been struck by lightning. The world was illuminated in a dazzling, blinding white, before everything went instantly black.

“Percival,” An unfamiliar voice called and Percy looked around. 

He was standing in an endless darkness. There was a glow of light around him, illuminating the black ceiling and floor. Or… What he supposed was a ceiling or floor. There were no walls, so Percy guessed maybe it was the sky. 

“Where am I?” Percy called out, turning in circles as he frowned at the strange surroundings.

“In my diary,” The voice called again and Percy turned, staring at the tall, thin figure of a young man. His face was ivory pale, his black curls well groomed and his eyes were a bright, piercing green. Percy startled as he stood, at a height with the other boy who was his exact same age, give or take a few months. He wore a Head Boy badge, a set of Slytherin robes, and a smug smile. “Hello, Percival. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Tom?” Percy asked, frowning as he stared at the man. He looked… Faintly transparent. Like a projection from one of Arthur Weasley’s strange contraptions or a ghost. “What… What’s going on? What is this?”

“You were very helpful, Percival,” Tom said simply as he looked at his hand. “I’ve been trapped in this diary for over fifty years, waiting for someone to open the diary and give me true life again.”

Percy reached out, tried to find a wall, stumbling away from Riddle as he walked through the vast emptiness of his surroundings. “You’re a ghost?” He asked, seeing tom in the corner of his eye no matter where he turned or looked. 

“A memory, soon to be very much alive once more, thanks to you,” Tom followed him, smirking as he watched Percy turn and try to run, try to find a way out, any way out. “You’re dying, Percival.”

Percy froze as he stared into the void, his heart pounding. “No.” As if he could stop death itself with mere denial. That was how ghosts were made, he didn’t want to be a ghost. He didn’t want to be dead.

“Yes. You’re dying. And you will be dead long before anyone finds this chamber, soon you will be the one that is nothing but a memory,” Percy turned and stared at Tom’s sneering grin, confused and desperately terrified. 

“Why are you doing this, Tom?”

“Because I can,” The memory was fading even more, and Percy realized he wasn’t turning less real, he was escaping the diary’s confines. “Because you were so pathetically desperate for a _friend_ it was too easy. Because once I have my body back I will be able to pick up where I left off and kill Harry Potter and every filthy mudblood in this school and the world.”

Percy’s breath caught and he choked out, “Voldemort.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed as Percy sank to his knees in the endless void, feeling weak and terrified as he realized just what he had done. “Cheer up, Percival.” The memory’s voice was more distant now and Percy’s body drifted to the ground, like a leaf released by the wind, left to limply be taken by gravity. “It’s only eternity.”

* * *

Percy woke in the Infirmary, his eyes staring at the ceiling above him, taking in the points of high glass windows as he cataloged his entire body.

“Percy!” Ron threw himself at his brother and hugged him tightly, and Percy wrapped his own arms around the younger boy’s body, squeezing him tightly as he looked up. Ginny was there, tears in her eyes, and Fred and George were there as well, looking guilty as the group of them huddled around Percy’s hospital bed.

“What happened?” He asked, staring at the group. “Tom-”

“Tom Riddle is dead.”

The Weasley clan jerked and turned to see Professor Snape standing in the doorway to the infirmary. 

“S- Professor Snape,” Percy whispered, staring up at the man. “What happened to me?”

Snape didn’t say anything to him, merely casting a stern look at the others. “You all should be in classes. I will tend to your brother since Professor Lockhart is…” His eyes slid to Ron and he gave the boy a disapproving glare. “Indisposed.”

“Professor-” George looked like he wanted to say something, but Snape merely waved his wand and delivered slips of paper to each of them. 

“Give those to your teachers, now be off before I send all of you straight to the Dungeons for detention.”

It took some encouraging smiles from a weak Percy and a few muttered, “go, I’ll be fine’s” before Percy’s younger siblings left the infirmary. Percy laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He was surrounded by petrified bodies, and he couldn’t meet Snape’s silent gaze. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Percy refused to meet the man’s eye, too ashamed to even dare. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Snape stood over him, and Percy flinched as he turned his head away. 

“I didn’t want you to think less of me,” Percy whispered. “It was… Pathetic. I was so desperate for a friend I… Didn’t want to admit that I was so lonely.”

“You know who it was that was contained in that diary?” Snape asked, and Percy nodded mutely. There was a long silence drawn between them, putting distance that Percy didn’t want to acknowledge. If he acknowledged it then that made it real. “You are very lucky that Potter found you in time and destroyed the diary.”

Percy was quiet for a long moment. “Where is it?” He finally asked, staring down at his hands clenched on the soft bedding. He avoided the shadows of the petrified students, breathing heavily as he thought of the events of the year. 

Snape was silent, and Percy heard his robes open as he placed the diary on Percy’s lap. Percy stared at the crumpled cover, now bearing an enormous hole in it. The pages were soaked in ink and blood and when Percy hesitantly lifted it, he was relieved to not feel the familiar jolt of magic shooting up his arm. It was just a diary now. Nothing sinister, nothing dark, it was just tattered pages of a destroyed book.

“Percy,” Snape’s voice was low as he looked down at Percy, and Percy finally looked up at him, trying not to feel painfully vulnerable in his pajamas in the hospital bed. “I will be delivering this to Headmaster Dumbledore. You are not in trouble, but I need to know who gave this to you.”

It took every ounce of courage Percy could muster to whisper, “It wasn’t me it was meant for.”

Snape’s eyes were burning a hole into his soul as Percy looked at him. “Explain.”

“Before the start of school year, we were in Flourish and Blotts and… Lucius Malfoy put it in my sister’s cauldron. No one noticed it, but I did.” He wrung his fingers. “I needed a diary, mine was almost fully, and I… I took it from her because she was worried people would think she had stolen it.” Percy averted his eyes from Snape’s dark gaze. “I didn’t know what to think.”

“You didn’t think it was a sinister item?” Snape asked, clearly sounding confused. “Your father and Lucius Malfoy’s rivalry is legendary, and you didn’t think he might wish your family ill?”

Percy choked on a sob, forcing out the words, “I just wanted a friend.” He covered his face. “I didn’t think of any of that.”

They stood in silence for a few long moments before Snape spoke. “I owe you an apology, Mister Weasley,” Percy flinched at the change from “Percy” to “Mister Weasley”, looking up at the Professor looming over him. “I did not realize that you were not under your own control. You were influenced by someone trying to keep me from finding out his actual intentions.”

Percy’s mouth gaped and he realized, with a sinking feeling, what the man was referencing, “Sev-”

“I was a fool and if I had not been blinded by my own selfish desires I would have realized sooner that-”

Percy reached out and grasped the edge of the man’s robes, terrified that he was about to lose the only person who had shown him an ounce of care all this time. “Professor, I’m sorry-”

“No.” The man’s firm voice made Percy freeze as black eyes met his own green. “You are not the one who should be sorry.”

Before Percy could stop him, Severus was gone and Percy was alone.

Truly alone.

* * *

“How are you feeling, Mister Weasley?”

“I’m alright, Headmaster,” Percy looked down at his hands. “I have headaches, but Madame Pomfrey prescribed me some potions for that.”

“You had a rather exciting year, haven’t you?” The man gave Percy a curious look. “Is there… Anything else you wish to tell me?”

Percy looked at Dumbledore’s calm, level gaze and shook his head mutely. 

“Do you have someone else you could speak to if you feel the need?”

Percy nodded quietly, and tried not to think about how much more comfortable with lying he had become as of late.


	3. Alethiology: (n.) the study of truth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

The dry Cairo air brushed over Percy’s face as he wandered through the courtyard of Bill’s Cairene house. It was warm, beautifully warm, and Percy tilted his head to the sunlight pounding down into the small oasis that Bill had created in his home. The work at Gringotts had been good for him, had given him a chance to use his skills to his benefit and enrichment, in more ways than one. When Molly had won the Daily Prophet drawing she had excitedly packed the entire family within a week and they went to the Prophet to claim their portkey to Egypt. Percy hadn’t wanted to go to Egypt, still exhausted from the school year, but now… Now he was glad for the distance from England.

Thoughts of Severus Snape plagued him, about how the last month of his time at Hogwarts had been an embarrassing mess of whispers and Snape avoiding him even in classroom settings. He had stopped raising his hand for any of his classes, not when all he could see was the pity and worry in people’s eyes whenever he drew their attention. Percy sighed as he slipped into one of the rooms that opened into the green courtyard. The yellow sandstone was intricately carved, and decorated with bits and pieces from Bill’s travels. Percy fanned himself with a copy of the Daily Prophet that showed the picture of the Weasley family waving proudly in front of the Great Pyramids, smiling broadly in more traditional Egyptian robes.

His footsteps echoed softly through the light filled hallways of Bill’s home and his fingers brushed against sandstone worn smooth with time, and he thought of the Dungeons and Severus Snape’s office tucked away. 

“Percy,” Bill’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and he turned to see his eldest brother approaching him. Bill’s long hair was pulled back into a tight bun and his fingers were wrapped in fresh bandages from handling dark artifacts the week before. He looked exhausted. 

Percy could sympathize. “Yes?” He asked, regretting how tired he sounded. 

“We haven’t really talked since you got here,” Bill said as he stood next to Percy, his blue eyes fixed on Percy’s green. “Come on, let’s go to my office, we can talk there.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Percy said simply, refusing to move from his spot. “Everything is-”

“Fine?” Bill scoffed, staring at his younger brother . “Yes, Percy, you are fine. Fucked-Up, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional.” Percy didn’t know exactly what he could say against that. “You haven’t slept since you got here, and the one time I did see you sleeping you woke up screaming.”

Percy silently stared at the sandstone wall across from him, decorated with a series of masks from different cultures, enchanted so that the eyes would follow you as you walked. 

“Mum’s worried,” Bill said after a moment where the silence stretched too far. 

“No, she’s not,” Percy whispered. “If she doesn’t acknowledge what happened… It’s like it never happened.”

“Percy, you were possessed by a dark artifact, you can’t blame yourself for what happened, for what you did.”

Percy shook his head and tried to breathe through the overwhelming emotions that seemed to block his throat. “I could have killed someone.” He whispered softly, looking up at Bill. “I could have died… And no one… No one would have been able to find me.”

“You were found in the end,” Bill said softly. “But I can’t help you if you don’t let me, Percy.”

“I don’t need help!” Percy shouted, glaring at Bill as he felt the rage consume his chest, his ribs stinging as if they had caught fire from the friction of hurt and anger and pain inside his heart. “I don’t! I don’t need people trying to fix me! I don’t need anyone poking around in my head trying to figure out what part of me is me and what part is-” His voice cracked on a sob as he whispered, “Tom.”

Bill was silent for a long moment and Percy ripped off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to steady himself, to get his breathing under control.

Percy slid down the wall behind him, disturbing photographs as he sat on the cool floor. He turned his head away, avoiding Bill’s eyes. “I don’t want people to realize that I’m… That the things that make me me are things that… That I share with _him_.”

Bill sat down beside him on the floor, keeping his hands to himself. Percy had never been a very touchy-feely child, and even now the thought of being touched threatened to send Percy to pieces as he clutched his arms around his legs, trying to make his gangly form seem smaller. “I want to help you, Percy.”

A wry laugh, then, “There’s some things even you can’t fix, Bill. This is one of them.”

* * *

The Head Boy badge gleamed in the small red velvet box and Percy stared at it. Of all things to happen in his last year… He hadn’t actually expected to still be a Prefect, much less Head Boy. He ran his thumb over the badge and wondered how much of this was competence, how much of it was pity, and - even more worrying - how much of it was the faculty wanting to keep a closer eye on him without seeming suspicious. He replaced the badge in his book bag and took a deep breath before he pulled out his tarot deck.

The future felt so uncertain now, and Percy only had one question.

“What next?” He whispered to the deck and then drew a random card from the 78, holding it before his eyes to take in the image.

The Two of Swords. Reversed. 

Percy placed the card back into the deck and took a deep breath before he stowed the deck back in his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and went down the winding stairs of the Burrow to the fireplace. He grabbed a fistful of floo powder and said, clearly, “Knockturn Alley.”

When he stepped out of the connected fireplace he was in what looked to be an antique shop. There was an enormous triangular cabinet shoved into a corner, a variety of knick knacks and objects that reeked so foully of Dark Magic that it made Percy’s head spin. There were several things in the shop that caught his eye, fighting for his attention with dark, wordless whispers. A beautiful opal necklace behind a glass display, a gruesome mummified hand that looked almost human, and what looked like a wooden puzzle cube covered in intricate golden designs were the most notable.

“What do you want, you lost?” The man behind the counter had long, wavy hair and a sallow face, his eyes bulging widely as he stared at Percy suspiciously. 

“No,” Percy said simply as he stepped forward. “Is there a bookshop in the alley?”

“Flourish and Blotts is a few streets over.” The man sneered, giving Percy a once over that made the young man feel more self-conscious than he should let on. 

“Perhaps you can help me,” Percy said simply, staring at him. “Do you know any sort of magic that would allow a memory to be preserved in a diary?”

“It’s this thing called the quill-”

“Don’t patronize me, sir,” Percy straightened to his full height and thought of Severus Snape, his sneer and the way he always seemed to be looking down his nose at the world in general. “I would like to know if there is any sort of magic where someone might be able to impart their very essence onto in order to steal the life of another when the object is taken into possession.”

That got the man’s attention and he hesitated before he turned to a locked cabinet behind him. He waved his wand and chains and the variety of locks clicked open, sliding out of place and revealing a shelf filled to the brim with various texts, some older, some newer, and some looking to be bound with human skin. 

The man pulled a book bound in black leather from the shelf and held it out to Percy. “Only two books like this in existence, all the others been destroyed.”

Percy stared at it and ran his fingers over the cover. Secrets of the Darkest Art was embossed upon the cover in a shimmering purple and Percy ran his fingers over the cover, feeling the low hum of something evil lurking within. It wasn’t quite the same electric shock of Tom Riddle’s diary, but something older, a vibration of magic from the very core of the book that had been around so long that it might have been present in the very air Percy breathed and he wouldn’t know any better if he hadn’t spent so long with Tom’s diary in his possession.

“How much?” Percy asked as he stared at the book, wondering just how much he’d have to pay for it. 

“Too much for you.”

Percy grit his teeth and pressed his palm to the cover of the book. “How much?”

“One hundred fifty galleons,” The man raised a brow at Percy. “Or payment in trade.”

Percy didn’t have anywhere close to that sort of money, nor did anyone else in his family. He didn’t have any friends he could beg for a loan, he didn’t have much anything he could consider worth trading, but look around the old antique shop, he had to wonder what the man would even want. “What sort of trade?”

“Mister Weasley,” Percy’s spine tingled and he straightened immediately at the familiar voice, though he didn’t turn. “What are you doing here?”

Percy wasn’t sure if he had the boldness to lie to the man. “I could ask you the same question, Professor Snape.”

“Borgin,” Snape’s hand grasped at Percy’s wrist. “Your business with this young man is concluded.”

“Is that so?” The shopkeeper raised an interested brow as he looked between Percy and the Professor. “And what would you give me to keep my mouth shut about your pretty pet weasel?”

Snape gripped the man’s collar and dragged him until the edge of the counter dug into the man’s gut, whispering into the man’s ear lowly. Percy glanced between the two arguing men and the book still beneath his hand. He slid it easily across the counter and into his bag, not even breaking eye contact with the shopkeeper as he did so. Once it was securely in his possession he stepped away from the counter to stand behind Snape’s dark cloak. 

“Of course, Professor Snape, wouldn’t want to cause no troubles,” The man ducked his head and cleared his voice. “You give your master a good word in for me, yeah?”

“Perhaps,” Snape sneered, his hand gripping at Percy’s shoulder tightly, guiding him out of the shop. The man didn’t speak again until they were right at the slipstreet that led to Diagon Alley, Snape pressing Percy roughly into the brick wall. “You stole something from him, give it to me.” He ordered, his dark eyes fixed on the young boy’s face sternly. 

“No,” Percy said, finding some small reserve of famous Gryffindor courage.

“He’ll have you arrested.”

“No, he won’t.” Percy shoved Snape’s hand away from him, glaring at the man. “He runs a Knockturn Alley shop that deals with artifacts and books that contain dark magic. He’s not going to go to any form of law enforcement over a book he shouldn’t have in the first place.”

Snape’s expression did not belie any emotion beyond anger and disapproval. “So it’s a book then. I thought you’d have had enough of books imbued with dark magic after last year.”

Percy stared at Snape, trying to keep his own expression neutral as he whispered. “What would you know of my thoughts?”

Before the man could reply, Percy slipped from his grip and made his quick way to the Leaky Cauldron, his heart pounding in his throat, threatening to suffocate him as he maneuvered through crowded streets.

He needed answers.

* * *

Percy couldn’t risk his fellow students finding the book. It was too valuable, and much too dangerous, to be read in the common room or the library. That left him with only the option of reading it in the staff room, late at night when he most certainly should not be out of bed. It wasn’t difficult to stay up until he was certain that all of the other students were asleep, the time spent laying in his bed, staring at the canopy was time where his mind ran most rampant. When he was certain that the stillness of the rooms was absolute he slipped out of the bed, fully dressed, and made his way through the hallways. 

The mistake that most students made being out late at night was they seemed to be under the impression that creeping quietly along would make them nigh undetectable, when in reality walking with purpose at a clipped speed tended to leave them with little time exposed in the painting-filled corridors. Percy slipped into the staff room, his back pressed to the door while the two gargoyles outside bickered about whether or not he had any business being out so late, even if he was Head Boy. The wood paneled room brightened when he entered, the fireplace roaring to life, and Percy glanced around before he chose the small table in the furthest corner of the room, tucked behind the enormous mirrored wardrobe that the staff kept their spare coats in.

Percy hesitated before he pulled his diary out. He hadn’t even opened it and it was the third week of classes. He was already a disorganized mess, and there wasn’t much longer he could avoid using his tried and true method of writing everything down in one place. He flicked the diary open and wrote on the first page.

_If Found Return To Percival Weasley_

The ink did not soak through the page or vanish, there was no mysterious handwriting, it was just a diary, just a book. 

Percy flicked to the very last page of the diary and then opened Secrets of the Darkest Arts to the very first page.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the staff room when he first heard the scratching noise. He had ignored it at first, focusing on the new disorderly page of the rather strange book, he frowned as he took in a diagram showing the exact process of creating a proper Effigy, and Percy made a note of the human elements required of it (blood, saliva, hair, urine, tears, and seminal/vaginal fluids) and continued on to the next page. 

_Percival._

Percy froze, staring down at the page before him but failing to read anything properly as his mind flickered and froze with terror. 

_Perfectly Prissy and Pompous Percival._

Percy stood, covering his ears as he turned to look at the room. There was no one there, not even any portraits hung on the wall. 

_Percival, look at me._

“Come out!” Percy snapped, turning in tight circles as he drew his wand, uncovering his ears. “Come out and face me, Tom!”

_I’m right here, Percival._

Percy turned and froze when he saw his reflection in the mirrored surface of the wardrobe, but it wasn’t his reflection. It was Tom Riddle’s dark curls instead of his own red, it was Tom Riddle’s pale skin devoid of Percy’s freckles, it was Tom Riddle’s green Head Boy badge and self-assured smirk wearing Percy’s warm red sweater. 

“ _Bombarda_!” He shouted, shattering the mirrored surface and causing the door to fling open. 

Tom Riddle stood inside the wardrobe, staring at Percy with a smirk as he slid out of the darkness of the wardrobe to stand mere feet from Percy. 

“No…” Percy whispered. “No, no, no, you’re dead. You’re dead, I’m alive, you’re not real!”

_Percival, look at me!_

“ _Stupefy_!” The crackling red of the spell jolted across the body of the young man standing before him and Percy scrambled backwards as Tom continued to advance. “ _Reducto_! _Confringo_!”

_You can’t get rid of me that easily, Percival._

Percy stumbled and fell, his glasses skittering across the floor as Tom loomed over him, his hands gripping at Percy’s shirt collar, hauling him up until their noses nearly touched. He choked on his own breath for a moment, staring up at the phantasm grinning widely down at him, growing more and more clear the closer his face came. 

“Percy!” The voice was distant, like Percy’s head was held under water, his breathing was rapid and his vision had started to go grey about the edges. 

The door to the staff room opened and Tom looked up, sneering as he released Percy, letting him drop to the ground. 

In seconds Tom had aged, he was older, his face more gaunt, his shoulders broader, his school robes changed to flowing black edged with silver designs of snakes and skulls. Percy reeled back, scrambling away from the figure, and heard Snape’s familiar voice shout.

“ _Riddikulus_!”

In an instant Tom was no longer standing there, instead with a whoosh of movement he was replaced by a pantomime trapped in an invisible box. 

“ _Depulso_!” Another voice shouted and Percy watched as the Boggart reeled back into the wardrobe. The moment the door was shut Professor Lupin stepped forward and waved his wand at the door. “ _Colloportus_.” The wardrobe locked itself closed and Percy turned away from the reflective surface, scared of what he, or the two Professors, might see in it.

“Mister Weasley,” Snape was knelt down beside him and Percy looked up at him, trying to catch his breath and calm his heartbeat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he could do was grasp at Snape’s sleeve and press his face to the man’s shoulder, trying to keep himself from falling into oblivion. 

“Here, these are yours,” Professor Lupin knelt and held out Percy’s glasses, and Percy shakily took them, putting them on his face. “ _Occulus Reparo_ , _Scourgify_ … There you are, better already.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have-” Percy choked on the words as he covered his face, ashamed that not only Snape would see him like this, but that Lupin had to bear witness as well. “I’m so sorry.”

Snape didn’t push him away or release him, instead using one hand to reach into his pocket and pull out a glass bottle. “Drink this.” He ordered, and Percy took it without question, making a face at the bitter, chalky taste of of a calming draught. “And this.” Percy hesitated as he accepted the rat-shaped bottle of firewhiskey he had gifted Snape the previous year. “Drink.” The man ordered.

“Really, Severus, alcohol?”

“Drink, Mister Weasley.” Snape ordered, more firmly, and Percy drank half of the firewhiskey, choking for a moment on the burn before he coughed and turned his face away, covering his mouth so as not to spew the alcohol across his Professor. “Better?”

“Yes,” Percy managed, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Professors.”

Lupin turned back to the wardrobe and smiled. “Well, at least I don’t have to scour the entire castle for the Boggart that Professor Dumbledore told me was wandering around somewhere.” He waved his wand and the wardrobe shrank, rattling like a piece of doll furniture on the floor before Lupin crouched to pick it up and place it in his pocket. 

“I’m sure that was Mister Weasley’s intention all along, Lupin,” Snape sneered as he glared at the other Professor. “I will escort Mister Weasley to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine,” Percy stumbled up to his feet, clearing his throat as he ran a still shaking hand through his hair. He was soaked with cold sweat and when he looked over at the two Professors they clearly had the same opinion as Bill. He was, indeed, fine. Fucked Up, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional.

“You’ve just had a very traumatic experience, Mister Weasley, I don’t think it would be wise for you to be left untended to.”

“I agree with Professor Snape,” Lupin said simply. “If it would make you more comfortable, I could escort you to Gryffindor Tower and-”

“No!” Percy didn’t know what he’d do if their Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher found his book. So far the two men hadn’t seemed to notice it on the table, the Boggart and Percy occupying their full attention. “Please, I don’t wish to be an inconvenience.” He stepped away from the two, pawing at the table surface to find the book before he closed it and tucked the front cover against his hip to cover the title. “I’ll just…” He hesitated before he flicked his diary closed and stacked it against the book. 

“Lupin, I can handle Mister Weasley, you continue about your business,” Snape said dismissively, his eyes still fixed on Percy.

Lupin glanced between the two of them with a frown, clearly uncertain as to what was going on, before he nodded and turned. “Rest well, Severus, Mister Weasley.”

Once the door was closed, Snape reached out, snatching the book from Percy’s grip, sending the diary tumbling to the ground. “Hey!” Percy tried to grab the book back, but Snape had already turned it in his hand to read the cover. 

“Secrets of the Darkest Art,” The man looked down at Percy. “This was what you stole from Borgin and Burke’s?”

Percy stared at the man petulantly, refusing to answer. “It’s mine, give it back.”

“Why would you need this, Mister Weasley,” Snape loomed over Percy, clearly trying to be intimidating. “Surely you still wish to work for the Ministry, having such a book in your possession is… Frowned upon.”

“You wouldn’t-” Percy gasped, thinking of every prospect he had ever dreamed of. 

“I would, now tell me why you have it before I report not only your blatant disregard for curfew, your invasion of the Staff Room, but also your possession of this particular tome.”

He could lie, but what would that even achieve? Percy looked into Snape’s eyes and for a moment thought about tender kisses shared in the man’s office and a promise that nothing would happen to him or his siblings. 

“I still hear his voice.”

Snape stared down at him and Percy glanced at the corner where the wardrobe had been.

“Not always, but sometimes I hear his voice. Just… Little things. Innocuous.” Percy ran a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds stupid, he only spoke to me when I was d… When I was dying. All the other times we wrote.” Snape wasn’t looking away from him, wasn’t blinking, wasn’t even breathing as far as Percy could tell. “That’s why I got that book… Borgin said that it would tell me about… About things like the diary.”

Snape held the book in his hand, his thumb running over the cover, before he tucked it into his own robe. “You may read this book under supervision. My supervision. Attempt to steal it from my possession and I will immediately report you to Dumbledore and have you expelled.” The man stared down at Percy, his dark eyes narrowed. “Is that clear?”

Percy’s nose was mere inches from the Professor’s as he nodded quietly. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Snape stepped back and gestured for the door. “Come along, then, I’ll escort you to Gryffindor Tower.”

Percy cleared his throat and nodded, picking up his quill and shoving it into his book bag along with his diary. “Thank you, Professor Snape.”

They walked quietly for a few minutes, not a word spoken between thembefore Snape stopped in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait, Percy looking over his shoulder at the man. There were so many things they probably should talk about, but Percy didn’t want to say it where eavesdropping portraits could be seen. 

“Fortuna Major,” He whispered to the Fat Lady and she drowsily swung open, letting Percy slip into the common room.

* * *

“I’m sorry about Draco,” Percy said as he sat at the worktable in Snape’s office. “Even if he is a brat.”

“Draco Malfoy is… Quite deserving of his injury,” Snape rolled his eyes as he sat at his desk, going over reports with a quill dipped in scarlet ink. It looked like the parchment in front of him had come off second-best with a slashing curse with the amount of red on its surface. “Despite being my godson, he is, as you said, a brat. Consequences for his actions is just what the boy needs.” Snape blotted the paper, rolled it up, then slid it into a silver case, clicking the tube shut before he grabbed the next one. “Lucius Malfoy will be coming to the castle in order to speak about appropriate punishment for the poor beast.”

Percy felt his heart clench as he stared down at the paper before him. “Oh?” His voice sounded weak even to him. “Couldn’t he… Speak to the Ministry of Magic in London?”

“He decided to have the conversation during the next Board of Governors meeting.” Snape looked up at Percy. “Your first as Head Boy. It will be good practice for you as you wish to be in the Ministry.”

Percy looked down and cleared his throat. “I, um… I suppose so.”

“Lucius Malfoy is many things, but he can behave himself in front of the Board,” Snape looked at Percy and raised a brow. “But I cannot help but wonder… Why is he still on the board at all?” Percy didn’t answer, fixing his eyes on the book.

_A Horcrux is a magical object that is possessed by-_

“Percy,” Snape’s voice called. “Why did you not tell the Board that it was Lucius Malfoy who gave you the diary?”

Percy looked up at Snape and let out a shivering breath. “I… I didn’t want to burn any political bridges.” He whispered before he closed his book, standing to take it to Snape’s desk. “If I was the reason that he’d been thrown off the Board, then I’d… I’d find it very difficult to find work in the Ministry.”

Snape was silent as he accepted the book Percy held out to him. Their fingers inadvertently brushed and Percy felt his face flush as he snatched his hand away quickly. “Same time next week, Mister Weasley?”

“Yes,” Percy whispered, adjusting his glasses before he turned to grab his bag and diary. 

“And, Percy,” Snape called to him and Percy turned before he could stop himself, his hand on the door handle. “If you hear Tom Riddle’s voice again… Come to me straight away.”

* * *

Percy couldn’t sleep. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professors Snape and McGonagall were quietly speaking to one another while they paced the aisles of students laid out on the floor of the Great Hall. Percy couldn’t make out their conversation, their voices too low, but he could make out their footsteps. The sweeping rustle of Dumbledore’s long robes, the measured pace of Snape’s shoes next to the click of McGonagall’s heeled boots. 

Percy kept his eyes closed, his hands folded over his chest to clutch his glasses near his body in case he needed to move. When their voices went quiet, Percy opened his eyes and stared at the illusion of a starry night sky. There was no escaping the Great Hall at the moment, but there was no sleep to be had in his near future. He sat up after a few moments and rubbed his eyes with one hand, holding his classes before he put them back on. He didn’t move, merely sitting in place quietly. 

“Mister Weasley,” Dumbledore’s voice whispered, and Percy jumped, looking up at the man. “Are you quite alright?”

“Just can’t sleep, Headmaster,” Percy whispered back, blinking at the man’s kind and curious face. “Sirius Black.” He gave by way of explanation, afraid to tell the man that the true reason he was unable to sleep. 

“I understand, dear boy,” Dumbledore gave a gentle smile and straightened. “Is there anything we could do to help?”

Percy couldn’t sit there, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stand Dumbledore’s eyes on him longer than necessary. “I… I need to go to the lavatory, sir.”

“Of course, Professor Snape can escort you.” Dumbledore straightened and gestured for Snape to come over as Percy stood, the Head Boy straightening his clothing even as he left his robe abandoned on the ground. He had refused pajamas for the night when the house elves had delivered them to the students. He couldn’t be that vulnerable with a murderer on the loose.

Stepping into the hallway with an annoyed looking Snape, Percy whispered softly, “Can we just… Walk?” He asked, looking at the man. 

“Lying to Dumbledore is not a habit I should encourage,” Snape said simply, but they diverted from their path to the lavatories. “Do you wish to speak of anything?”

“Just…” Percy sighed. “We’re practicing patronus charms in class, I’m… I’m struggling.”

“I’m afraid I cannot be of much assistance to you,” Snape said simply. “Patronus charms are not my area of expertise.”

“It’s worse with the dementors here.” Percy whispered. “I… I can’t sleep at night. I can’t go about the grounds. I feel like if I did then they’d… They’d sense what’s left of… Of him in me.”

That actually made the man stop walking, standing in a stone corridor devoid of other professors or any portraits. Percy looked up at the man and Snape drew his wand, staring down at him. “Death Eaters and He Who Must Not Be Named are unable to conjure a patronus.” Snape directed for Percy to stand. “What was is your happiest memory, something that fills you to the brim with joy?”

“Last year’s Lupercalia,” Percy answered without hesitation, staring up at the man’s raised brow, his expression turn slack with shock. “The… The kiss.”

“Think of that, focus on it,” Snape whispered, staring at the boy as he made the appropriate gesture with his wand. “Say the spell.”

Percy turned to face the hallway and thought of the kiss shared on the eve of Lupercalia, the taste of moly on his tongue. He thought of smiles that were only for him. Thought of thin fingers on his body and someone who saw him for who and what he was and accepted it, delighted in it. 

“ _Expecto Patronum_.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the small, fluttering, jagged wings of a bat was not it. The patronus fluttered and illuminated the corners of the corridor, making it’s frantic little way through the hallway before it vanished in a fine white mist. 

“You are not evil, Percy,” Snape said softly and Percy looked up at the man. “Evil could not have produced that.” The man turned and gestured for Percy to come along. “We’ll return to the Great Hall, you need to sleep.”

* * *

Hogsmeade’s brightly painted buildings always looked particularly enchanting during the winter. Percy wandered through the streets and tried to let the white of the freshly fallen snow cleanse him of any dark thoughts. It had become more difficult as of late to fight Tom Riddle’s voice in his head, it grew louder with every passing day and lately had started to drown out his own thoughts. He found himself seeking out the dungeons, and more than once he had lingered outside Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom for no discernable reason other than he felt as if he was called there.

Shaking those thoughts aside, Percy kept his pace brisk and looked around him. Madam Puddifoot’s bright pink storefront caught his eye and he immediately opened the door to step inside. Everything was pink and frilled and there was bright music playing over an enchanted record player. Madam Puddifoot herself was smiling as her blonde curls bounced and bobbed around the room, serving students that were sitting together lovestruck and moon-eyed. Penelope Clearwater was sitting with a boy that Percy didn’t know the name of, smiling happily at the boy. Rumor had it that Percy had been the final victim of the Basilisk’s petrification, and Percy was content to keep that rumor. He couldn’t bear the thought of Penelope knowing that it had been him that had set the Basilisk upon her, or the fact that she could have died if not for sheer luck.

“Waiting for someone, love?” Madam Puddifoot asked as she stood over Percy’s table. 

“No, just me,” Percy cleared his throat, counting out his coins to hand to the woman. “Could I have a creamy coffee and a spiced cauldron cake?”

“Of course, love,” Madam Puddifoot smiled down at him and gave a wave of her wand, a pink glass mug and a matching plate whizzing across the small shop, nearly taking off the hats of some of the diners. She tapped her wand upon the edge of the glass and a small amount of espresso filled the bottom of the mug, then hot cream filled the glass to the brim. Once the top of the mug was about to overflow a cauldron cake with cinnamon-sprinkled whipped cream was produced on the plate. “Enjoy.” She sing-songed before moving on to the next table. 

Percy sighed and looked down at the coffee for a long moment. He had always been much more inclined towards tea, but coffee kept him awake for longer. It was already late in the afternoon, if he drank the coffee now he’d likely not even start to feel tired until well past midnight, and then it was just a matter of waiting until Breakfast was served at seven. 

Percy drank the coffee quickly, the liquid the perfect temperature so as not to scald, merely to warm him through. He spiced cauldron cake was delicious and mingled quite well with the flavor of the coffee. 

_Percival._

Percy straightened and stood quickly, shoving the last of his cauldron cake into his mouth before he made his way to the door.

“Percy?” Penelope’s voice called and Percy ignored her. 

_You can’t ignore me forever, Percival._

Into the streets of Hogsmeade, stumbling through snow, Percy felt as if his skull was about to split open, spattering his brain across the snow as he made an uneven path back towards Hogwarts.

“Mister Weasley,” Snape’s voice called and Percy turned, feeling dizzy as he blinked up at the man. “Are you dru-”

“It hurts,” Percy hissed as he stared up at the man with tears in his eyes. “Please, just make him stop, make it stop.”

Snape swept his arm around Percy’s shoulders, shielding him with his cloak as he guided him through the snow towards an expanse of empty land. It wasn’t until they were approaching the rising edifice that Percy realized they were walking towards the Shrieking Shack.

“What about the ghosts?” Percy asked weakly as Snape practically man-handled him up the steps of the building.

“A myth to keep nosy teenagers away,” Snape closed the door of the shack and cupped Percy’s cheeks, staring into his pained eyes. “Close your mind, Percy.”

“I can’t,” Percy felt tears rolling down his cheeks. “What if he is already in there?”

“Nothing you do not want will reside in your mind if you have self control.”

“It hurts,” Percy whimpered weakly. “He’s so loud.”

“Close your mind. Concentrate and you can do it.”

“Please,” Percy sobbed. “Please, just kill me, please.” He felt sick, his entire body shaking with exhaustion and pain. “Please.”

Snape was staring at him silently, all Percy could make out through his tears were the man’s eyes. “ _Legilimens_.”

_Tom’s smirking face, his green eyes staring down at Percy. “Why are you doing this, Tom?”_

_“Because I can,” The memory was fading even more, and Percy realized he wasn’t turning less real, he was escaping the diary’s confines. “Because you were so pathetically desperate for a friend it was too easy.”_

Percy gasped and his head flew back as he groaned and struggled. His fingers tangled in Snape’s cloak wrapped around his shoulders, the ripping of the fabric louder than Percy’s ragged breaths and noises of agony.

“Stay with me, Percy,” Snape grounded him. “Concentrate, close your mind.”

_Percy worried the skin of his inner cheek between his teeth, tasting blood, before he wrote._

_I broke up with Penny Clearwater. I think my family will be disappointed. She was a very nice girl._

_Percy tried not to think of how his mother would have loved the idea of Grandchildren. Bill had yet to settle down, Charlie was obsessed with his dragons, and Percy was the next in line to take on that responsibility._

_She would have held you back._

_Percy thought about it, silently agreeing._

“Breathe, concentrate, focus.” Snape’s voice cut through the memory and Percy tried to focus on that, focus not on Tom Riddle, but the man pressing him to the wall, holding him upright, supporting him, guiding him.

_“I have one question,” Severus’ voice was imprinted upon Percy’s very bones now, with how his thin lips whispered against his skin. “Why are you here?”_

_Percy flushed and turned his head, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep his eyes open. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly, more honest and accurate than he realized._

_Severus hummed and let his fingers slip free of Percy’s body with a wet sound that made him shiver and press closer to the man’s groin on instinct. “Do you want to leave?”_

_It was a clear out. It was an offer that he should take._

_“No.” Percy whispered, before he could properly think the offer through. “Please, Severus, just fuck me.”_

“Focus!”

_There was the taste of blood on his teeth and Percy thought it must be one of his rough kisses shared with Snape. He froze when a feather stuck to his tongue and then more blood than the paltry bit he usually tasted. Crouched in a dark hallway, he stared down at the mangled body of Hagrid’s rooster, clutched in his hands. Percy threw the rooster aside and stumbled back, staring at the body before his head snapped up and he stared at his reflection in a dark window._

_He was covered in blood and feathers, one hand holding Tom Riddle’s diary clutched in his hand. His entire arm tingled and burned with a strange pain radiating up from where his fingers dug gouges in the cover of the diary._

And then there was no pain. Percy blinked up at the ceiling of the Shrieking Shack, feeling cold, damp wood on his back as he breathed and came back to himself. He was on the floor of the Shack, Snape looming over him, staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

Percy still had his grip on the man’s cloak, so tight that his knuckles were white and he was sure he had ripped some of the careful seams of the wool fabric. “Your cloak.” He murmured absently. “I’m sorry. I’ll repair it.”

It was a silly thing to be so focused on. Especially when his mind had any sort of clarity for the first time in over a year. 

“Percy, look at me,” He was helpless to do anything but obey the man’s low, commanding voice. He didn’t expect the deep kiss pressed to his lips, but his hand immediately yanked on the cloak in his grip, drawing Snape - Severus - Severus closer. 

When they parted Percy blinked and breathed deeply. “I missed that.” He whispered after a moment.

“You’ll be coming to my office every night,” Severus whispered and Percy blinked up at him, confused and flushed. “You need to learn Occlumency. I can only keep your mind protected for so long, you need to learn how to do it on your own.”

* * *

It was midnight when Percy made it to the Dungeons, knocking on Severus’ office door. The man answered and stared down at Percy briefly before he stepped aside, gesturing to the cauldron that was set up on a table, filled halfway with a mixture of salt and sand, seven white candles standing upright along with branches of fresh fir. Percy breathed in deeply and looked up at Severus as the man tapped his wand on the ceiling and extinguished the lanterns that lined the room. 

Percy held out his own wand and whispered softly, “Although it is now dark, I come seeking light. In the chill of winter, I come seeking life.” The first candle lit without an incantation. He had not done this ritual the previous year, but his wand knew the ritual, knew the magic that was not taught by the school.

“I call upon fire, that melts the snow and warms the hearth. I call upon fire, that brings the light and makes new life. I call upon fire to purify me with your flames.” The second candle lit and Percy could feel something inside him rebel at the incantation. Imbolc was for purification, it was the blessings of a new spring after the darkness of winter. 

Percy grit his teeth and continued the ritual, knowing that failing to complete it would cause more pain than not, “This light is a boundary, between positive and negative. That which is outside, shall stay without. That which is inside, shall stay within.” The third candle lit and Percy’s hand shook ever so slightly as he held the wand as level with the candles as he could. 

Severus’ hand wrapped around his own, holding it level, and both of their voices spoke the next words. “I call upon fire, that melts the snow and warms the hearth. I call upon fire, that brings the light and makes new life. I call upon fire to purify me with your flames.” The fourth candle came to life and Percy focused on Severus’ hand wrapped around his own fingers, cradling his palm and wand in a protective grasp. 

“Like fire, light and love will always grow. Like fire, wisdom and inspiration will always grow.” Percy whispered, and Severus’ voice was a baritone murmur alongside Percy’s voice as the fifth candle was lit. 

They stood in silence, and Percy felt a familiar warmth deep in his chest. “I call upon fire, that melts the snow and warms the hearth. I call upon fire, that brings the light and makes new life.” He froze and almost couldn’t choke out the final words before he forced them past his lips. “I call upon fire to purify me with your flames.” The sixth candle lit and Percy could feel the spell within the dungeon, brugeoning and brewing as surely as one of Severus’ potions. 

Percy breathed heavily and forced his voice to become louder as he held his wand level. “Fire of the hearth, blaze of the sun, cover me in your shining light. I am awash in your glow, and tonight I am made pure.”

The spell crackled through the air like embers suddenly fed kindling, and Percy flinched back as the white candles flickered and pulsed as the spell seemed to comb through Percy’s very soul, scorching his ribs and leaving him feeling as if he had been filled with flash-fired glass. He leaned back against Severus, the man wrapping his arms tightly around Percy to hold him upright. Burning was meant to be cleansing, but all it felt to Percy was painful.

“Will it ever stop hurting?” Percy choked out, staring at the candles. 

Silence. Then, “I don’t know.”

* * *

The meeting of the Board of Governors could not have ended fast enough. Head Boy and Head Girl were required to attend the meeting merely for educational purposes, but Percy wished that he had taken sick that day to avoid it. Perhaps he could manufacture a fainting spell, or he could force himself to throw up next time. 

“And with that, I believe with Miss Clearwater’s rather insightful question regarding the merits of implementing a class for Muggleborn students introducing them to the cultural insights of the Wizarding World, that concludes our meeting.”

“I believe I have one more matter, Albus,” Lucius Malfoy’s voice purred from across the table, his expression closed and smooth, as if he wasn’t seething with fury. “In regards to the continued employment of Rubeus Hagrid as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.”

“Mister Malfoy, I believe that it is between you and the Ministry, but if it will set your mind at ease, I have already enacted disciplinary action towards Hagrid and have had his curriculum carefully supervised for a probationary period of one year so that an incident like what occurred with your son will not happen again.” Dumbledore gave a very reassuring smile, clearly dismissive of Lucius Malfoy’s opinions.

Lucius’ tongue ran over his teeth and he sneered at Dumbledore before his eyes swept along the table to land on Severus’ face. “Severus, what is _your_ opinion on this situation?”

Severus was silent for a few long moments and Percy wondered if he was going to ignore the man. “I believe that it is not Professor Hagrid’s fault here, but the hippogriff’s. It is clearly a dangerous animal and must be put down.”

Percy glanced at Lucius, who smirked as he looked at Dumbledore. “A simple and elegant solution.”

“Mister Malfoy, I suggest you bring this up with Cornelius Fudge,” Dumbledore raised his own brow. “As I understand it you have the Minister’s ear.”

“Quite right, Dumbledore,” Malfoy scowled, realizing that he would get nowhere with Dumbledore.

“And with that, our time is up! Mister Weasley, Miss Clearwater, off to your next classes.” Dumbledore waved his hand and the table was cleared of papers and notes and refreshment. Percy stood quickly to escape the room, more importantly to escape Lucius Malfoy.

The others began to file out of the room, but Dumbledore held Severus and McGonagall back to discuss the events of the meeting. Percy listened as everyone went their own way, only to be followed by a single pair of unfamiliar footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder, stiffening when he saw Lucius Malfoy following him at a leisurely pace. 

Percy made a dozen turns and found himself in the unfamiliar environment of the dungeons, his heart pounding even more loudly in his ears. His first thought was to go to Severus’ chambers, but then he thought of how that might raise even more questions. So he turned a different corner and found himself lost in the labyrinthine corridors of the Dungeons. 

He knew that the staircases tended to switch and move and change, but it wasn’t until he had started to spend more time down in Severus’ offices that he realized that the dungeons did the same. It didn’t matter that Percy had the favor of the head of Slytherin house, he was a Gryffindor, and soon the hallways started to play tricks on him.

It started with trying to turn back another way, only for a wall to spring up and stop him. Then another a few feet later. 

“Lost, Mister Weasley?”

Percy turned, staring at Lucius Malfoy as the man stood less than a meter away from him. The man’s blonde hair was perfectly smooth, his eyes looking Percy over curiously. 

“No, just fighting with the corridor,” Percy’s back met stone, worn smooth with time, and he stared up at the man. His heart was pounding and he was sure that Malfoy could see just how terrified he was. 

“Surely you aren’t afraid of me,” Lucius smirked as he peered down at the student, lifting his walking stick so that the serpentine handle pressed Percy’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. “Rumor has it that you were taken to the Chamber of Secrets.” The man whispered softly, his steel grey eyes searching Percy’s green. “What was it like?”

Percy’s heart pounded madly and he shook his head. “I was unconscious.”

“Surely you caught a glimpse of it? Of who brought you there?” Lucius stared down at Percy, and Percy could smell the man’s cologne wafting over to him. He wasn’t one who knew a whole lot about scents, but he could tell that the man’s was expensive and sharp, so unlike the musky mixed-potions smell of Severus’ robes and hair.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about those circumstances, would you?” Percy asked as he stared up at the man. “About how I wasn’t the one that was meant to be there.”

Lucius raised a crisp, well-manicured brow. 

Percy pressed his hand to stone, as if he might find a way of escaping the situation if he found the right stone to trigger a secret passage. “You put the diary in my sister’s cauldron at Diagon Alley.” Percy whispered, watchig the way Lucius’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “She was the one that was meant to use the diary. To give Voldemort a new body, a new life.”

Lucius’ wand was suddenly pressed to Percy’s chin, a sharp point of danger that made Percy’s heart pound even more loudly in his chest. He was sure that the students in Slytherin’s common room could hear the sound of his frantic heartbeat. “If that was true, then I would no longer be on the Board of Governors, much less allowed to step foot in the Ministry at all.”

There was a long, pregnant silence between them before Percy whispered softly, “If I told anyone the truth.” Those baleful grey eyes narrowed and Percy knew he had only one chance to escape this moment intact and it entirely depended on what he said next. “I told Dumbledore that I had bought the diary from a second-hand shop.” He wouldn’t tell the man that the only person who knew the truth of where he got the diary from was Severus Snape. There were some secrets that Percy knew needed to be kept close to the heart.

“Why?” It was a simple question, a loaded one, and Percy took a moment to truly mull it over.

He searched Lucius’ face for a long moment before he said simply, “My father has no real influence in the ministry.” Percy said simply. “You do.” 

The wand tip dug into his chin. “And what stops me from obliviating that rather enticing little piece of blackmail from your mind?” Lucius asked with a low purr, like a cat that had swallowed a canary whole. 

“Because I’m not the only one who knows,” Percy whispered softly. “Just because Dumbledore doesn’t know doesn’t mean that nobody else knows.”

“You little-”

“Lucius,” A familiar drawl called out and Percy nearly let out a shuddering breath of relief at the measured footsteps and the brush of woolen cloak on the stone floor approached the two of them. A hand with black-painted nails grasped at Lucius’ pale green and silver robes, drawing the man back. Percy took in a sharp breath at the sudden space, the wand leaving his chin and giving him a chance to slip out from the corner he had found himself trapped. “Mister Weasley, don’t you have classes to get to?”

He didn’t know what conversation was about to take place, but the murderous look in Lucius Malfoy’s eyes told him that he’d best not be present for it. By the time he got to Professor Burbage’s classroom he was pale and soaked through with sweat to the point that the woman wrinkled her nose slightly and cast a silent cleaning spell on him as he sat down at his desk.

Whether or not Lucius believed him, Percy was sure this was not the last he’d have to deal with the man. Be it a professional or personal capacity.

* * *

“Fuck.” Percy hissed as he bit his thumb nail, glancing at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Everyone else was in the room, and Percy had been waiting for nearly an hour. The sun was setting, and Percy had no idea where Ron, Harry, and Hermione had gotten off to. He sighed and pulled on his most-objectionable sweater vest. If he had learned anything it was that Ron’s friends tended to drag him into trouble and Percy didn’t want to be wearing anything he was particularly fond of if he needed to be racing through the Forbidden Forest for his life. 

It was… He wasn’t sure why he didn’t go to McGonagall. Perhaps it was the new trust he had placed in Severus, perhaps it was that he didn’t believe that his head of house had ever managed to properly discipline her three favourite students. Instead of going to McGonagall’s office, he made his way to the dungeons. He was only a few flights of stairs away from Gryffindor Tower when he ran bodily into the man who was lurking around a corner. 

“Profess-” A pale hand wrapped around Percy’s mouth, silencing him and Severus placed a finger to his own lips to indicate silence. He pulled Percy to his chest and Percy peered over to where the man’s gaze was fixed. 

Professor Lupin was striding purposefully through the halls, and Severus was clearly following the man. 

“What is it?” The man asked softly, removing his hand from Percy’s mouth just enough for the boy to speak. 

“Ron’s missing, so are Harry and Hermione, it’s almost dark out and I’m worried.”

Severus scowled, his eyes still fixed on Lupin’s retreating form, and he looked down at Percy. “Go back to the tower, I will deliver them to you myself.”

“You must be an idiot if you think I’ll let you do that,” Percy hissed as he followed Severus following Lupin. 

“I can make you stay,” Severus glared at Percy over his shoulder. 

“You’d risk your job like that? Casting an Imperius on a student?” Percy sniped right back, keeping as close as he could to the other man without tripping either of them up. 

“I could petrify you,” Snape hissed as he glared over his shoulder at Percy.

“And wait for someone less benevolent to come along? Like Sirius Black?”

Severus froze, then turned to glare at Percy. “Go back to Gryffindor Tower and wait for me to return.” There was something in his eye that made Percy hesitate, and that hesitation was enough confirmation for Severus, it seemed, as he started to move through the hallways at his previous pace, following Lupin. Percy clenched his fists and glared at the trailing end of Severus’ cloak.

 _Turn around._ The voice in his head that he had started to associate with Tom Riddle whispered. _Turn around and do as he says._

Nothing good had ever come from listening to that particular voice before, why would that start now.

Percy followed Severus at a distance, grateful that the man was preoccupied enough with following Professor Lupin to either ignore or overlook Percy entirely. They left the castle, climing down the mountainside towards the Sabbat Henge. Right took them to Hagrid’s hut, but left took them to the Whomping Willow, and Percy blinked in surprise as he watched Lupin and then Severus turn and go towards the Willow. Percy hesitated, thinking of that voice telling him to turn around, and then forced himself onwards.

He watched Lupin immobilize the Whomping Willow and slip through a gap in the roots, and then Severus waiting a few moments before he followed. There was a part of him that made Percy hesitate, made him hold back and wait. He wondered if that part was the part that was Tom. 

The rocks surrounding the base of the mountain Hogwarts was built upon offered protection, even as they chilled Percy to the bone as he sat, his wand at the ready, fiddling with the sheathe wrapped around his wrist. He thought about the end of the summer. Of Lucius Malfoy lurking about the Ministry. He thought about Severus Snape and smiled. 

It was over an hour of periodically casting the immobilizing spell upon the Whomping Willow, pacing and waiting behind the rocks, before he saw movement. He froze when a man dressed in rags came out of the hole beneath the Whomping Willow, hauling a familiar red head that struggled and limped along. Harry Potter then came next, and then Hermione. Percy stood, frozen in fear, wondering if the younger students were under the influence of the Imperious Curse. How would Sirius Black even manage to cast such a spell without a wand unless he was, indeed, a follower of He Who Must Not Be Named. When Professor Lupin climbed out from among the roots, his wand pointed to a pudgy, hunched-over man with patchy, wild hair and long, rat-like nails, Percy felt his heart stop. 

Severus had not come out. Moments ticked by, Sirius Black and Professor Lupin corralling the stranger while Ron sat on a rock at the base of the Whomping Willow, Harry and Hermione just… Standing there… Beside their friend but doing nothing. 

Percy clenched his fist around his wand and stood, prepared to lunge forward when the clouds parted and moonlight illuminated the scene and sent everything straight to hell.

Lupin froze as he stared up at the sky, his wand lowering, and the man he had been holding at bay snatched the wand out of the Professor’s lax grip. The man started to transform, the process as grotesque and horrifying as Percy had imagined when he had first read of it. Percy wracked his brain for the spell he’d need to help, tried desperately to think of what to do even as Sirius Black lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Lupin’s arms and middle. 

And then the man the two wizards had held captive transformed into a rat and Severus came climbing out of the hole amongst the roots of the Whomping Willow, throwing himself between Ron, Hermione, and Harry, his great cloak spread like bat wings.

“You bloody fucking idiot!” Percy hissed to himself as Sirius Black and Professor Lupin raced off, both of them transformed into… A werewolf and a great black dog. “Fucking fantastic.” Percy came stumbling and leaping over the rocks. He was unable to stop Harry from running off, but when Hermione tried to follow him, Snape grabbed the girl, and Percy swept in to grab Ron.

“Mister Weasley!” Snape snarled at him and Percy pulled Ron’s arm around his shoulder. 

“Professor, you can yell at me all you like later, but one of your students just ran off after a _werewolf_ , I think that’s a much more pressing issue!”

“It’s Lupin, don’t hurt him!” Hermione shouted, and Percy grasped at her arm tightly. 

“Go, Professor Snape!” Percy stared up at the man’s dark eyes, his terrified grip on the two much younger students shaking as his heart pounded. “Go!”

Thankfully, the man didn’t argue. 

Ron and Hermione, however, did.

“Percy, you can’t let him! They’ll kill him!” Ron babbled. “It’s not really him, it was Scabbers, he killed them!”

“Ronald, you’re injured and hysterical and clearly under the influence of a curse,” Percy hauled the two struggling, fighting students towards the castle. “Stop _fighting_ me!” He barked as Hermione tried to kick his shins and get him to release her. “That’s it.” He released the two, letting them stumble and fall to the ground before he waved his wand. “ _Levicorpus_!”

The two struggling third-years were hauled into the air by their ankles, and Percy made his way back to the castle, even as they rambled and argued and shouted about Sirius Black being innocent and Peter Pettigrew was alive and Professor Lupin didn’t know what he was doing and someone needed to save Harry and Sirius both.

“Sirius Black is a known Death Eater!” Percy shouted, glaring at the two students as they crossed the boundary of the Sabbat Henge. “Peter Pettigrew is - is dead and Professor Snape will take care of all of this as a responsible teacher!”

“No, Pettigrew was Scabbers!” Ronald shouted desperately, trying to kick his one good leg as he dangled over the stone steps Percy was levitating the two students up. “The missing toe, you always wondered what happened, he cut it off to make people think he was destroyed!”

Percy froze, staring at his brother, thinking of all the times he and the twins had come up with more and more outlandish ways the rat had lost the toe (the one that had made Percy laugh the hardest was that the rat lost it in a fistfight with a weasel). He thought of all the times he had cuddled the rat and kissed it’s small head, how often he had washed and fed and played with the small animal. The rat that had happily, healthily, lived for twelve long years. 

“You are going to Madam Pomfrey,” Percy whispered weakly. “The Headmaster will sort this all out.”

* * *

“Is it true?” Percy whispered as he stood in Severus’ doorway. The man was holding a bottle of firewhiskey and when he opened the door Percy instantly walked inside, grabbing the bottle from the man. 

“Yes.” Severus whispered as he watched Percy drink three long swallows of the firewhiskey. Percy followed the man back to his desk, making note of the way he moved stiffly.

“You didn’t even ask me which part,” Percy placed the bottle down on the desk, staring at Severus as the man rubbed at his forehead. 

“Which part do you need confirmation on?”

“All of it,” Percy leaned his hip against the edge of Severus’ desk and stared at him. 

Severus rubbed his eyes. “Dumbledore confirmed it.”

“Dumbledore?” Percy asked, confused. 

“He knew that Sirius Black had not killed the Potters. He knew that Peter Pettigrew was a known Death Eater.” Severus took the bottle and drank from the mouth of it, not even flinching at the burn of the alcohol. 

“How would he know that?” Percy asked as he ran a hand over his face. “It… Even if he did, why wouldn’t he just tell people the truth?”

“Because it wasn’t convenient to his plans for Harry Potter to grow up with his godfather,” Severus took another drink and Percy snatched the bottle, taking his own swig before he threw his glasses onto Severus’ desk, cradling the bottle in his hand. He had a feeling he’d need it for this conversation.

“Tell me,” Percy whispered as he stared at Severus. “Tell me everything.”

“That will put you in even more danger,” Severus said simply. “You already have Lucius Malfoy keeping an eye on you, and you’ll be joining the Ministry soon.”

The bottle of firewhiskey shattered on impact with a blank stone wall. Percy was on his feet, standing over Severus, the man’s wand drawn and aimed at Percy’s face, a trained reaction that Percy was starting to realize was second nature to the man for more than one reason. “Percy-”

“I still hear him, Severus,” Percy whispered, staring at the man. “I’ll always hear him. I’ll always be in danger. I’ll always be a fucking target and because he’s inside me now and I deserve to know what is going on.” Percy’s voice cracked and he could feel hot tears spilling down his face. “Now you tell me… You tell me everything, or you had better fucking kill me now.” 

Severus stared up at Percy, and after a long moment waved his wand, repairing the bottle and refilling it with whiskey. “Peter Pettigrew is a Death Eater.” He undid the buttons of his sleeve up to the elbow, carefully rolling the fabric up his forearm to reveal a black tattoo of a snake slithering out of the mouth of a skull. “And I was as well.”

Percy sat on the edge of Severus’ desk, staring at the mark before he looked away from the Dark Mark into the man’s eyes then away to the collection of more rare potion ingredients that lined Severus’ walls. There was a bottle containing the bodies of several common rats preserved in alcohol. He thought of Peter Pettigrew disguised as his pet for ten long years and felt sick. “He… He slept in my bed. I loved him. He was my pet and I… Oh god.” Percy covered his mouth with a hand, took a few deep breaths, before he fixed his eyes on Severus’ once more. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

Percy stroked his fingers over his gold and red scroll case, staring at it silently before he ran his fingers over his name, whispering a soft, “ _Rasura_ ”. His name was gone and he placed it aside before lifting a second scroll case, simple silver and black, from his book bag. He lifted his wand and took a few deep breaths before he started the process. He remembered seeing his father cast the complicated vanishing charms on cabinets, he had spent years curiously trying to replicate them. He took a scrap piece of parchment, scrawled “hello” on it, and placed it in the golden case before he tapped his wand upon it three times.

The parchment was gone. 

He opened the black and silver tube, saw the scrap of parchment with his handwriting greeting him and smiled. Perfect. Just a few more adjustments. 

Percy took the two cases and turned them into plain black and silver, removing the Gryffindor colors from his own case. He wrote protective runes upon his surfaces where a student name would normally be seen, and after a moment pricked his finger with the tip of his wand. He smeared his blood across the runes and watched them soak into the etchings until there seemed to be no remaining trace of the blood shed to feed the spell. He’d need Severus’ blood as well, but that would be easy enough. 

“Percy, you ready to go?” Ron’s voice called, and Percy glanced over his shoulder at his brother. He slid his belongings into his book bag, and nodded. 

“Almost,” Percy turned to his brother. “You go ahead, Ron, I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Percy, I…” Ron looked down and then swallowed. “I’m sorry. About Scabbers. I know he was…”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” Percy whispered, his hand reaching out to adjust Ron’s shirt collar, smoothing out his youngest brother’s rumpled seams. “If I had known I never would have given… Scabbers… To you.” He let his hand drop and nodded to the door. “Off you get, I’ll be along in a moment.”

Ron nodded and left, apparently realizing that obedience now might grant him leniency at home with their parents’ scolding over risking his life. Percy took a deep breath and collected the two scroll cases, slipping them into his bag before he sheathed his wand at his wrist and strode through the familiar halls and staircases down to the dungeons. 

He was met halfway to Severus’ office by the man himself. “Professor Snape.” Percy looked up at the man. “Might I have a moment?”

The man gave a brief, imperceptible nod and the two of them slid into a classroom, the man’s black cloak all but eclipsing Percy as they stood, their toes nearly touching in the dark dungeon room. Percy looked up at the man and Severus raised a brow as Percy fumbled with one hand into his bag, pulling out the twin scroll cases. 

“Give me your hand.” He ordered, and was surprised when Severus obeyed, easily holding his hand out. Percy pricked the man’s finger with his wand, and then turned the man’s finger to smear it upon the engraved runes. Once the blood had soaked through, Percy pressed the tube into the man’s hand, his own hand wrapped gently around slender, potion-stained fingers. “You should write me.”

“This relationship was inappropriate last year, it is just as inappropriate this year,” Severus raised a brow down at his ex-student, but he didn’t move away, didn’t even try to remove his hand from Percy’s.

“I’m graduated today, don’t you remember?” Percy gave a small smile to the man, even though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to smile again. “There’s no rules against you writing me… Maybe I could visit on weekends, when the students are at Hogsmeade?” Severus was silent for a few long moments and Percy stepped away, putting distance between them until the man was just out of reach. “If you do want to write me, use that, it’ll be safer than any owl.” He turned away from the man and opened the door to the dungeon classroom. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the man, still frozen holding the silver and black tube in hand. “I’ll write you.”

The door clicked shut behind him and Percy felt as if his heart was trying to escape through his throat with how hard it pounded in his chest.


	4. Retrouvaille: (n.) the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation; rediscovery.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and the Old Friend

“I’m sorry, Hermes, last one, I promise,” Percy stroked the bird’s ruffled feathers, offering an owl treat in an attempt to placate the owl. Hermes had been a bit overworked in the three weeks since Percy had returned home from his final year at Hogwarts. Percy reached down for the next stack of letters. “Take these to the mail room of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.” Percy ordered Hermes, who let out a small displeased hiss and accepted the bundle of letters. Percy sighed and looked at the four other stacks of letters he had written out. His hand might be permanently stained with ink and his hand was cramped even a week after he had stopped writing letters nonstop. 

He would get a job at the Ministry no matter what, even if he had to start in Magical Games and Sports or Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He had sent out his request for the Department of Mysteries first, and then Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Now he was on his backup list of applications, hoping for a response. 

“Percy! Lunch is ready!”

He sighed and opened his bedroom door, leaning over the railing to shout down to the main floor, “I’m not hungry, Mum, I have work to get done!” 

“You can’t work on an empty stomach!” Molly Weasley called, chiding him. “Come down here and at least have a sandwich!”

“Mum!” Percy sighed, only to nearly be hit in the face by a plate whizzing up the coiling stairs to him. “Thank you, Mum, love you!” Percy sat down at his desk and closed his bedroom door. It was a simple meal, salmon paste, diced up celery and sliced cucumbers from the garden, but it was still comforting in its simplicity. 

He finished half the sandwich and pulled his stationary kit across his small, cramped desk. There was only a quarter of a pot of ink left and Percy could tell that his nibs would need to be replaced soon. Along with more owl treats for Errol and Hermes. Some proper robes for work when he did get it. Perhaps he’d invest in a cologne as well. Screwing his last good nib into place on the quill, he drew a fresh piece of parchment over and began to write. 

_Dear Severus,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It’s been quite a busy last few weeks for myself. I’ve been working on my applications to the Ministry of Magic and find that the waiting is worse than the writing. Part of me thinks maybe I should take up teaching pre-Hogwarts age children their letters and mathematics. I always wondered why you taught at Hogwarts when you clearly disliked children, but I suppose if the job market when you graduated was anything like it is now teaching would be a fairly safe job market._

_I apologize for the brevity of this letter, I’ve written dozens of applications to different Ministry departments and my hand seems to have developed a permanent cramp. I’ll be going into Diagon Alley this weekend to get some new robes, my mother keeps insisting I should buy them in red and at this point I’m inclined to just not tell her when I go to get them._

_Wishing you were here, with all my love,_  
_Percy_

He rolled the piece of parchment tightly and slid it into the black and silver scroll case, clicking it shut before he tapped his wand upon it three times. Opening the case, he made sure the parchment was gone before he smiled and placed the case in his pocket. 

A few more moments to slowly chew the rest of his sandwich gave Percy time to mull over the information that Severus had given him at the end of the previous year. Normally, to organize his thoughts, he’d write everything down in a diary and review the information later to try and clear up his own confusion, reordering and organizing information until everything made sense. As it was, he couldn’t risk a nosy sibling, or worse, someone more sinister, finding his diary and whatever secrets might be contained within. 

So he sat, staring at the window of his room that looked out over verdant pastures and the fluffy white dots of sheep scattered across the landscape like errant cotton balls. 

James and Lily Potter had been killed by Voldemort. Their secret revealed by Peter Pettigrew, who was a Death Eater (and Percy’s pet rat for twelve long years after the betrayal). Severus had been a Death Eater as well in his misspent youth, but before the death of James and Lily Potter he became a spy for an organization, founded by Dumbledore, called the Order of the Phoenix. He had been in contact with Death Eaters as of late, including but not limited to Corban Yaxley, Igor Kakaroff, Walden MacNair, and Lucius Malfoy.

Percy stared at his quill resting on its stand at the top of his desk. 

He had no idea what to do with any of this information, but he knew that he’d need to trust Severus now more than ever. There was horror brewing on the air, and Percy could taste it, like the smell of rain before a storm. A beat, and then Percy dragged his book bag up from under his desk and rummaged through it, placing items on the narrow surface of his bedspread. Three filled diaries, his old quill case, his Witch’s Almanac, a copy of the Daily Prophet with a half-finished crossword, and his tarot deck all lined up on the bed and Percy froze when his hand closed over something else. Something he hadn’t expected. 

Secrets of the Darkest Art, written in purple on the black leather cover, the low throb of dark magic a familiar feeling to Percy now as he gripped the book tightly. There was a bookmark between the pages, a piece of black ribbon, and Percy opened the book to the pages. 

_A Horcrux is a magical object that is possessed by the spirit of a dark witch or wizard. It contains the fragment of a soul which, unless it is destroyed, allows the bearer to become functionally immortal. While the soul will live on after a body is destroyed, the horcrux is not able to create a new flesh and blood body out of nothing. In this regard a horcrux is only a shallow imitation of immortality unless placed in the possession of someone who can provide the soul with a body._

Percy stared at the pages and let out a shuddering breath before he closed the book and placed it face-down on his bedspread. He picked up his tarot deck and frowned, trying to think of the correct question to ask. “Did Tom Riddle make multiple horcruxes?”

Three of Wands. 

He placed the card down and breathed deeply. “How many horcruxes did he make?”

Seven of Wands. 

Percy reshuffled the two cards into the deck then placed it in its leather case. He looked up at his window just in time to see Hermes returning, bearing a letter in its beak. He traded the letter for an owl treat and tore open the letter, prepared to read another rejection. 

_Dear Mister Weasley,_

_Upon looking over your application I have decided to interview you for the position of my personal assistant here at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Please arrive at my offices at the Ministry of Magic promptly at 9am next Monday with a copy of your resume and references._

_Sincerely,_  
_Bartemius Crouch Senior_  
_Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation_

Percy brightened immediately and penned a quick acceptance and confirmation of the interview which he attached to a rather annoyed Hermes before he opened his scroll case. There was a letter there already and he hesitated, before he opened the brief scrap of paper from Severus.

_Dear Percy,_

_Ignore your mother, you would look much better in green robes._

_Yours_  
_Severus_

* * *

The work was not the hardest thing in the world, it was infinitely easier than a full course load at Hogwarts, but this was mind-numbing even at the best of times. Percy had learned that Mister Crouch enjoyed poorly-brewed tea and coffee slopped together via his wand more than he liked anything that Percy attempted to make with any level of care. The man was not one to hand out praise at all, much less often, and when Percy was given any assignment beyond paltry office work it was trivial at best. 

Which was how he found himself sitting in the darkness of the offices after nearly everyone else had gone home, penning a report on standardizing cauldron bottom thickness and how vital it was to the adequate and consistent brewing of potions. He had even included a foreword penned by Severus Snape himself, a revered potion’s master as well as Professor. The request had invoked a rather passionate series of letters from Severus that ranged from the actual topic of cauldron bottom thickness to what potions even grown adults seemed to foul up on the regular. 

“Mister Weasley,” A low voice purred and Percy straightened, turning to blink at the owner of the voice. “Busy little badger, aren’t you?” The man asked curiously as he peered down at Percy.

“Mister Malfoy,” Percy stood slowly from his desk, tilting his head curiously as his fingertips rested on the edge of his desk. “How can I help you?”

“I was merely searching for the head of your department,” Lucius raised a brow at the darkened office. “I am surprised to see you here and not him, Barty was always one to remain at work well past midnight.”

Percy startled and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly two in the morning. “Fuck, Mum’s going to kill me.” He scrambled to gather up his things into his book bag, slinging it over his shoulder carelessly in his haste. The bag bumped the papers of his report, sending them scattering across the floor. “Fuck!” He hissed, crouching to gather up the papers, smearing ink over two pages in his haste. 

“Language, young Mister Weasley,” Malfoy chuckled and Percy froze when the man waved his wand and the papers straightened, ordered, and stacked themselves on Percy’s desk. “You’re an adult, you hardly need to be beholden to your mother’s curfew.”

Percy clutched at the strap of his bag and stared at the man, confused and curious all at once. “Less than a year ago you held a wand to my face and threatened to obliviate me.” He tilted his head curiously, adjusting his glasses as he watched Lucius’ face. “What changed?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Lucius waved his hand airily. “But let us start over.” He held out his hand to Percy and Percy flinched back, looking down at the outstretched palm with perfectly manicured nails and a thick silver signet ring emblazoned with the seal of the House of Malfoy. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ the ring was inscribed with. _Purity Will Always Conquer_. “Lucius Malfoy, eccentric elite.”

“No need for a job when you have money enough to meddle in the jobs of others?” Percy took the man’s hand for a firm shake, meeting Lucius’ eyes. “Percival Weasley.”

“Percival,” Lucius smirked down at Percy, shaking his hand before he released it. “Since you would already, as you say, be in trouble with your mother, why don’t you join me for a drink?”

This was a bad idea. It was a the bad idea to top all bad ideas. He needed a plan, he needed to talk to Severus, he needed a lot of things, but most of all he needed Malfoy to want to extend the invitation again. 

Percy gave a sly smirk to the man, raising a brow. “I don’t put out on the first date, Mister Malfoy.” He walked past the man. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Mister Malfoy, but I have an apparition test in the morning and need to be well rested.”

He expected to hear footsteps following him, but was grateful when they did not. He stepped into the elevator down to the corridor of floos in the main lobby.

“I’m not used to being told no, Mister Weasley.”

Percy paused in front of the great tiled fireplace, turning to face a rather furious looking Lucius Malfoy. “I suppose that means you’ll just want me to take that drink with you that much more.” He stepped into the fireplace, kicking up the floo powder already in the hearth said simply, “The Burrow” and was off.

This was a bad idea. It was a apocalyptically bad idea. 

If Lucius Malfoy was wandering freely about the Ministry at night he was definitely influential enough to keep tabs on. What better way to keep tabs than when he was drunkenly consuming expensive bottles of wine? Percy might even get a few good meals out of it before the man lost interest.

Percy took a deep breath and pressed his knuckles to his eyes as he walked into the Burrow. The house was silent save the sounds of his family’s restless sleep. He sat on the edge of the couch shoved in front of the fireplace and watched the green flames flicker then die out. He half expected Lucius Malfoy to step through the fireplace, quickly following him for whatever lewd or nefarious ends the man had planned when he saw Percy at his desk in the first place. 

Sitting on the couch, Percy tried to reason out what he might be able to do to entice Lucius Malfoy into divulging any secrets, and each idea became more and more terrifying and disgusting. He wanted to floo Severus, but it was the middle of the night and the man slept little enough as it was, he didn’t want to disturb him further.

“Percy, dear, is that you?” Molly’s sleepy voice whispered and Percy looked over at the base of the stairs, smiling at his mother quietly. “Percy, it’s the middle of the night, what are you doing up?”

“Held back at work, Mum,” Percy forced himself up and kissed Molly’s cheek softly. “Sorry to be a worry.”

“You work too hard, Percy,” Molly rubbed his cheek and adjusted his glasses. “You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Percy joked, smiling down at her. “For now, I have work that needs to be done. Important work.” He gave Molly a hug and she sighed and returned the tight embrace.

“Go to sleep, dear, I’ll make sure you’re up for your Apparition test tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Percy made his way to the stairs, hesitating before he turned to his mother and whispered. “Mum?”

“Yes, Percy?”

“I…” _need to tell you something. I like both witches and wizards. I’m involved with Severus Snape. I hear a voice that isn’t there and that I think might be Voldemort. I might be in too deep and I don’t know what to do. I’m so very scared and I need your help._ “I love you.”

“I love you too, Percy.”

* * *

Percy smiled as he accepted a glass of firewhiskey from Winky as she snapped her wrinkled little finger and produced a tray of drinks for him and the other guests of the Top Box. Arthur was sitting with Mister Bagman, Mister Crouch, and Minister Fudge, chatting away with the group as if they were old friends. Percy himself was seated behind Minister Fudge, listening to the man speak with the Bulgarian Ministar-Predsedatel, Oblansk, the man listening politely to Minister Fudge’s attempts at striking up a rather one-sided conversation. Fudge believed the man didn’t speak English, but Percy didn’t believe that. No one who had such an amused look in his eye at the man’s fumbling could be mono-linguistic.

“Thank you, Winky,” Percy whispered to the house elf, watching as she smiled back at him and then went about her business serving the other occupants of the top box. 

“Ah, Minister,” Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy arrived at the box and Percy felt all color drain from his face as the man smirked and took the empty seat right beside his. “Winky, a firewhiskey.”

Percy passed his own glass of firewhiskey to the man, suddenly feeling much less content to eat drink and be merry with his family. 

“Astonishing, Arthur, it seems that you’ve managed to raise a house elf.” Lucius chuckled as he drank from the glass. Draco was seated between his father and mother, but Percy could see, from the glance he gave the family unit, the disapproving look on the woman’s face. She clearly felt the same way about the Weasley and Malfoy patriarch’s rivalry as Molly did, seeing it as an annoyance at best, needlessly dangerous provocation at worst. 

“Manners go a long way, Mister Malfoy,” Percy said simply, resting his folded fingers upon his knee. “You’d be surprised the sort of magic you can cast by just saying please and thank you.”

“Are you saying that Malfoys are rude?” Lucius asked, arching a well-manicured brow at Percy. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Percy refused to look at the man. “Narcissa has been perfectly charming all the times I’ve crossed paths with her at Diagon Alley and Gringotts.”

The game began with a cheer as the Irish and Bulgarian mascots came barreling out onto the field, followed by their teams. The Weasleys stood, cheering raucously all except for Percy, who remained frozen in place as he watched the game. Winky was seated in Mister Crouch’s reserved seat, perched upon the headrest as she kept her eyes covered and her ears trembled weakly in terror at the heights. Every so often Percy would glance over at the Malfoy’s to see Draco and Narcissa cheering in perfect Bulgarian while Lucius’ own eyes would peer at Percy as he sipped at the glass of firewhiskey that Percy had passed on to him. 

A small eternity later Percy stood, right as the rest of the box stood to cheer a particularly hard won goal, and apparated a few feet up and back to the small platform just behind the box. He took a deep breath and settled his nerves, made sure he didn’t splinch himself, and then turned to rest his head along a thick wooden support column. 

“Mister Weasley,” Lucius purred and Percy nearly jumped clean out of his skin and down dozens of flights of stairs to a rather embarrassing death. “Are you avoiding me?” The man asked with a smirk. “After our rather intriguing conversation at the Ministry I’ve found you to be a rather difficult creature to catch.”

“Some of us work for a living,” Percy tilted his chin challengingly at the man. “I know you wouldn’t understand that, having to work for something.” He glanced towards the box. “Even your wife was just _handed_ to you.”

Lucius’ eyes widened and Percy stepped forward, the man’s cane held between them as Percy pressed their chests together. “You insolent little-”

“You want to know something?” Percy whispered to the man, tilting his head so that his lips barely brushed against the man’s perfectly sculpted jaw. “A reward is always sweeter when you’ve had to actually work for it.” The man’s silvery eyes were startled and intrigued as he stared down at Percy, who felt his heart pounding in his chest as he brushed past the older man. “Enjoy the rest of the game, Lucius. Your wife is probably wondering where you got off to.”

Making his way back through the winding staircases and along the various pathways he managed to find his way to the surface and cast a location charm on Crouch’s tent. The man had insisted on staying in his tent to take tea, and when Percy had offered to stay the man had told him to go with his family and enjoy the box seats. Turned around as he was, it only got worse when the game ended with a riotous cheer and people started to pour out of the stadium to celebrate or commiserate depending on their team colors. Percy couldn’t care less about the Quidditch World Cup, he needed to find his way back to Crouch’s tent. 

“We weren’t finished, Mister Weasley,” A voice whispered in Percy’s ear, a strong grip dragging him into a black and silver striped tent. Percy turned sharply to see Lucius Malfoy staring at him, the man aiming his wand at Percy’s chin as the younger man drew his own. “I don’t like being denied.”

“I don’t like being bullied,” Percy hissed back, his eyes narrowed as he glared at the man. “What would your wife say if she saw us in here? I won’t let my career and reputation be ruined just because you want to be sucked off in public.”

“You little-” Lucius grabbed at Percy’s jaw, just as Percy reached out and grabbed at Lucius’ long, pale blonde hair. He did the only thing he could think of to throw the man off balance and mashed their mouths together roughly. 

While Severus tasted like moly and firewhiskey, Lucius Malfoy tasted like clove cigarettes and the crisp bite of peppermint. It didn’t spark against his tongue the way Severus’ kisses did, and it certainly didn’t warm him the same way when Lucius’ fingers dug into Percy’s waist, clawing at him and holding him tightly against the man’s broader bulk. 

Sharp teeth nipped at Percy’s lips and tongue and Percy returned the bite, drawing blood from the man’s lower lip. That caused Lucius to pull away sharply, running his tongue over the mark and glare down at Percy. Percy stared insolently up at the man as he fisted a hand in Lucius’ perfectly tailored robes and shoved him away. 

“Have a good evening, Lucius,” Percy turned and left, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way out of the tent and towards his father’s tent. At the very least the presence of Arthur and the others would dissuade Lucius from making a public scene. 

A scream tore through the air and Percy turned sharply, racing towards the sound out of whatever scrap of Gryffindor courage that remained. Several tents were caught aflame and figures cloaked in black wearing silvery masks had started to destroy the tents and terrorize other witches and wizards. Percy felt his heart clench as he thought of Severus and wondered if the man was part of this, if his face was one hidden behind the nearly half-dozen masks flitting in and out of the panicked crowd. 

“ _Stupefy_!” Percy shouted, casting a stunning spell towards one of the Death Eaters, not wanting to injure an innocent bystander or accidentally wound his lover if the man was in fact among the numbers. 

“Why you little beast!” One of the Death Eaters turned and Percy raised his wand. “ _Imperio_!”

Everything went black. 

Percy felt his heartbeat racing, his entire mind falling into oblivion. This wasn’t how the Imperious Curse was meant to feel. You were meant to feel calm, to sink into it easily. This was darkness and fear and pain and -

_You fool! Release him, he is mine to command!_

\- air rushed back into Percy’s lungs, stinging his throat and causing his chest to burn with a strange sort of pain, like stepping into the dead of winter and breathing in a lungful of frost. Lucius Malfoy was kneeling over him and Percy’s eyes tried to focus as he stared up at the man, clawing at his sleeve and frantically looking around. 

“Come along, Mister Weasley,” Lucius whispered as he hauled Percy upright, wrapping the edges of his cloak about Percy’s shoulders. “You’re safe now.”

“The Death Eaters,” Percy looked up at the man, dizzy and frantic as he tried to stumble away. “Call them off!”

“Just come with me to my tent, Mister Weasley,” Lucius tried to coax Percy away from the scene, but Percy stumbled and reeled away from the man, feeling as if his legs were not his own, like he was being pulled along by puppet strings. 

Everything was suddenly cast in a sick green glow and Percy looked to the sky as a series of glittering green stars coalesced and formed a jagged skull, it’s maw opening to reveal a snake coiling out where a tongue would normally lie, the snake tying itself in a knot as he hissed and spat green sparks and moved. 

“Dad,” Percy whispered in panic, his wand clutched in his hand as he raced through the trampled and burnt remnants of the campground, trying to find his father’s tent. “Dad!” He called, louder. “Bill! Charlie! Fred, George!” He stumbled through the campground. 

“Percy!”

“Ron!” Percy turned in frantic circles until he saw Ron, Hermione, and Harry racing towards him. “Ron! Thank Kemp.” He pulled his brother into a tight hug. “Is everyone alright?”

“My wand is missing,” Harry said as he looked around. “Someone stole it.”

“We’ll find it,” Percy placed Ron at arm’s length. “Where’s Gin? And Dad?”

“I don’t know, we only saw Malfoy, the others are-”

Percy glanced up just in time to see his boss’ wand aimed at him. “Get down!” He shouted, dragging the three teenagers down as he ducked, sheilding Ron’s head with his own torso as the three younger teens dropped to the ground. Several Ministry voices shouted out a variety of spells, only for Arthur Weasley’s voice to call out over the din.

“That’s my son! Put your wands down, that’s my son!”

“Which one of you cast it?” Barty asked frantically, aiming his wand at the three younger teens, Percy stepping forward to try and calm his clearly panicked supervisor. “The dark mark, which of you did that?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Harry shouted defensively, glaring up at Crouch and Fudge as they stared down at him. “It was Lucius Malfoy!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Percy said over the distraught boy, looking at Fudge and Crouch as the two men glanced supiciously over at one of the others of the group that had cornered Ron and his friends. Lucius was standing among them, looking only slightly ruffled for all the chaos. “Lucius Malfoy was with me, he saved me from a Death Eater.”

“Indeed, a pity I couldn’t save your nose before it was broken,” Lucius commented, looking at Harry with a smug smirk. “I assure you, Minister Fudge, I had nothing to do with tonight’s repulsive display.”

“We’ll sort this out,” Fudge said with a sharp look at Arthur. “In the mean time, no one leaves the camp grounds until it’s been properly searched.”

Percy glanced at Lucius Malfoy and shivered as the man gave him a thankful nod, turning away in order to approach Mister Crouch as the man’s shaking hand lowered his wand from where it had been aimed at Harry and the others. Percy’s heart pounded in his throat and he swallowed it down as he accepted the order to start searching for Death Eaters or anyone who might have cast the Dark Mark under the influence of the Imperious Curse. 

Now was not the time for panic, but later, the next night, after a brutal and nearly endless (and fruitless) search of the campgrounds, three separate reports, and enough coffee to make Percy’s hands shake, he curled up in his bed at The Burrow and wondered what fresh hell he had managed to get himself involved in.

* * *

“He was helping you?” Severus asked as he laid with Percy’s head on his chest in the man’s quarters. He was chewing on a sprig of moly, a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey on the bedside table. Percy reached for the bottle and took a swig, resting his head back on Severus’ thin chest as he let the bottle dangle from his fingers. 

“I don’t know what happened. It was like… Like when Riddle would take over,” Percy sighed and replaced the bottle on the nightstand. He pressed his hand to Severus’ ribs, counting them silently as he let his cheek press just over the man’s heart. “Like nothing else existed and I was being snuffed out, little by little.”

“Strange, but not… Entirely surprising,” Severus mused as he took the bottle and drank his own mouthful of whiskey. “You spent the better part of a year pouring your heart and soul into that diary. I imagine that the long term effects of that are far-reaching and study of them has been… Limited.”

“There has to be some sort of information on Horcruxes and their effects on the people that become possessed by them,” Percy frowned, curling his arm around Severus’ waist. 

“The long-term effects are that those possessed by Horcruxes eventually are extinguished by the soul in the Horcrux, their bodies then filled with the displaced piece of soul.” Severus’ fingers combed through Percy’s air and his dark eyes looked down into Percy’s own green gaze. “A soul cannot remain indefinitely in something inanimate. It craves to be reunited with human flesh as quickly as it possibly can. You’re very lucky you were not killed by the diary.”

He didn’t want to think about that. About how close he had come to certain death, how he could still hear Tom’s whispers dripping poison in his ears. Straddling Severus’ waist, Percy sat up, pressing one hand to the headboard of the small, simple bed, staring down at his lover. “I don’t want to think about Tom Riddle.” He whispered, and Severus stared at him for a long moment before his hands slid down to the younger man’s hips. 

Percy let his head loll against his bicep as he ground down against Severus, their bodies sticky and cool from dried sweat on their skin. His glasses were gone, cast aside with the rest of his clothing, but he could make out Severus’ eyes and that’s all that mattered. 

“I’ve never seen you naked before now.” He mused aloud, his hands tracing over Severus’ body, finding muscle and bone and the flat planes and lines of the man’s body. “You’ve seen me naked plenty of times, but this is the first time I’ve seen you.”

“You don’t have your glasses on,” Severus pointed out as his own fingers swept up Percy’s stomach, his chest, cupping his jaw gently to draw him closer. “And it’s not that light.” 

Percy reached over for his wand on the nightstand and waved it. “ _Accio Occulus_.” He ordered and the glasses came zooming into his view, slamming onto his face hard enough to make stars explode behind his eyelids and a sharp pain to shoot up the bridge of his nose. He flinched at the pain and scoffed when Severus laughed and gripped his hips to keep him steady. Looking down at the man, Percy took in shadows cast over the man’s form, his large, hooked nose, his dark hair limply sprawled across the pillow, his dark brows relaxed in amusement as he stared up at Percy. 

“You’re beautiful,” Percy said simply, startling the man beneath him as his long fingers combed through Severus’ hair, over his jaw and neck until he leaned down to capture the protests forming on his lips. “You are and I won’t hear you say otherwise.”

Severus’ lips pulled tight in a scowl and Percy smirked as he straightened and ground his hips back against the man’s hardening length. “You flatter me.”

“When have you known me to care about things such as flattery?” Percy reached back and rose onto his knees, guiding the man’s length into his own body with a sight. Thin fingers gripped at his hips tightly, guiding him into a steady rhythm as Severus bucked and pressed his hips against the backs of Percy’s thighs. “You’re a very handsome man, Severus, and intelligent, and clever.” Percy grinned as Severus tried to roll their bodies over, Percy dropping his weight against the man to pin him in place. “You’re not escaping this that easily.”

The small wrestling match that took place after that had Percy laughing and grinning as he was rolled onto his back, the two of them wrestling upon the bedding. Severus managed to get his nose tucked against Percy’s neck, biting and kissing at the tender skin until Percy was laughing and squirming. Long legs wrapped around the man’s waist, holding him close so that their bodies could rock and thrust against one another, the two of them fighting to be the one who set the pace. 

Percy kissed at Severus’ temple as the man bit and worried at Percy’s neck, just below where his collar would rest. Long fingers stroked along Percy’s waist and stomach, groping for his length as the younger man hissed and gasped, practically shaking with relief when cool fingers finally made contact with warm, slick flesh. “Fuck.” Percy hissed, his back arching when Severus gave a particularly hard thrust against him, the force of it hard enough to make the bed shudder and slam into the stone wall. 

“You like that word,” Severus chided with a smirk.

“You should take it as an order,” Percy gasped. One hand was pressed to the headboard to keep himself from being hammered into the thick wood, his other arm curled around Severus’ shoulders, holding him close as his nails caught on old scars and tense muscle. 

Severus growled against Percy’s lips and stole a long kiss as his hips thrust and ground against Percy, sending the younger man into an arching, whining mess. Percy didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think of anything except harder, faster, and more, of Severus’ lips on his neck and jaw and his fingers bruising at his hip while his other hand stroked his cock. 

“Ah! Severus!” Percy yanked on long, dark hair and Severus growled low in his throat as he thrust flush against Percy’s hips, spilling inside him as Percy shivered and whined and clenched tightly, his eyes rolling back as Severus stroked him through his own orgasm. 

When Percy finally came back to himself Severus was panting and staring down at him, dark eyes fixed on his face as if he couldn’t look away for a second. Percy smiled, letting the arm wrapped around the man’s shoulder drag over Severus’ jaw and chin, his thumb pressed to the man’s lower lip. 

“I must amend my earlier observation,” Percy managed to pant out breathlessly, smiling up at Severus. “You’re not just beautiful. You’re rather dashing like this.”

Severus leaned in to silence him with a kiss, only for the two of them to startle when Percy’s pocketwatch, gifted to him by his mother as a congratulations on his job at the Ministry, started to scream out in her voice.

“Percival Weasley, it is nearly dinner time! Whatever are you doing out so late?!”

“Shit!” Percy scrambled out from underneath Severus in order to hunt down his vest, fumbling through the pockets before he found the watch and snapped it shut as his mother’s worried voice demanded that he come home at once. 

“That seems like a very Molly Weasley thing to purchase,” Severus commented as Percy covered his face in sheer embarrassment. “It’s like having a howler on a timer.”

“She’s very protective,” Percy admitted as he cleared his throat and stood, snatching up his clothing amidst Severus’ own dark robes. “She also seems to be under the impression that I’m dating Audrey Rosenberg from work.”

Severus raised a brow at that as he perched himself up on his elbows. “Should I be worried?”

Percy sat down next to Severus on the bed and looked down at the other man. “It’s certainly not the worst one they’ve come up with.”

“Where do I rank on that list?” Severus smirked as he ran a hand over Percy’s shoulder. 

“Hmm… You’re not the worst by far. Currently they’re working their way through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Percy kissed Severus softly. “I rank you leagues above Corban Yaxley.”

“Stay away from Yaxley,” Severus said quickly as he stole another kiss. “And Malfoy. And MacNair.”

Percy fiddled with a strand of Severus’ hair, avoiding the man’s gaze. “Malfoy has… Made advances towards me and… At the Quidditch World Cup he…” Percy took a breath and shook his head. “What should I do?”

Severus was silent for a few long moments, his fingers brushing over Percy’s shoulder, his spine, before he took a deep breath and said, “Encourage him.” Severus whispered. “Having ears in Malfoy Manor would be invaluable.”

Percy nodded, biting his lip before he leaned in and kissed Severus. “Write me, you don’t do it often enough.” 

Thin lips curved against Percy’s in a smile. “Your mother is going to have a fit.” 

“Just you wait until I tell her that I’m seeing my old potion’s professor,” Percy smirked. “She’ll be so relieved I’m not sleeping with the likes of Ludo Bagman.” Severus gave a small snort, but Percy couldn’t help but notice the tightness around his eyes.

“You’ll be late for dinner.”

Percy pulled his robes over his shoulders, stole one more kiss from his lover. It took a few minutes for Percy to find the floo powder in the man’s private office. He paused as he stared at the man’s desk, worrying his lower lip between his lips before he grabbed Severus’ quill. He picked up a student report at random and wrote out a bit of praise and gave it an Outstanding before he placed it back in its scroll case. 

It looked like… Susan Bones had passed her essay with flying colors. 

Percy grabbed a fistful of floo powder and then quickly threw it into the fireplace. “The Burrow.”

When he whisked through to his home dinner was already well under way with the entire family as well as Harry and Hermione chatting away. 

“Sorry everyone, I had a late night at the Ministry,” Percy cleared his throat. “Mister Crouch has been getting owls at the strangest hours, so I’ll probably be back at the office after this.”

“Percy, you’re going to end up dead before you hit thirty if you don’t rest!” Molly huffed as she waved her wand and whisked a prepared plate over to Percy. He smiled as she fussed over everyone at the table.

“It won’t be forever, Mum, we just have a lot going on right now with a new initiative to foster good relations between Beauxbatons and Drumstrang and Hogwarts,” Percy cut into his shepherd’s pie, frowning as he took a bite. “I actually have my concerns.”

“You shouldn’t,” Arthur stared at Percy, chewing his own meal. “It’s a good opportunity for the students.”

Percy worked his jaw, glancing at the others. “I see that Ludo Bagman couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

“We’re old friends,” Arthur shrugged, raising a brow at his son. “He also cannot keep a secret to save his life.”

“Then you know how this entire event is… Performative at best, dangerous at worst,” Percy chewed a piece of gristly lamb and mashed potato. “They’re children. They have no idea what any of this really is.” Percy looked down at his plate and then at Arthur. “Their biggest worries should be their exams and their friends, not trying to impress us.”

Arthur gave Percy a disapproving look. "Well, _you're_ certainly not going to make an impression with talk like that."

Percy swallowed and looked down at his plate, feeling quiet embarrassment flush his face. “Good to know that I have your support, Dad.”

* * *

“Harry Potter?” Dumbledore called out, turning to search the crowds of students. “Harry Potter!”

Percy felt his stomach drop as he stared at the headmaster, then Barty Crouch, then Severus. Harry Potter was standing slowly and Hagrid was shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it even as Harry stumbled over and accepted the slip of paper from Ludo Bagman’s fingers. Severus looked positively apoplectic, his face frozen but his eyes blazing as he and McGonagall stood to follow Dumbledore while the headmaster gripped Harry’s arm tightly and led him away.

“Mister Crouch,” Percy whispered, staring at the man, his heart pounding in his ears as he looked at his supervisor, the man waving his wand to banish the Tri Wizard Cup from it’s display as he stormed after the Professors and foreign heads of house. Ludo Bagman was already quickly making his way to the chamber where the other champions were waiting and Percy could see that Crouch was frantically trying to think of some loophole, some way around the underaged Harry Potter’s participation.

Storming into the small back room Crouch immediately started his accusations, while Percy waited towards the back of the room. It was strange, but Karkaroff and Moody seemed to have almost expected this as the argued the possibility of Harry Potter tricking the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore was unreadable to Percy’s unpracticed gaze, but Severus…

“Mister Potter is a _child_ ,” Severus snapped as he looked at Moody and Dumbledore. “He cannot be allowed to compete.”

“The rules of the Tournament are binding,” Crouch said through gritted teeth. “His name has been selected, by whatever fluke there may be. My office will investigate this tampering to ensure it does not happen again.” 

Moody glared at Crouch, and Percy wondered what sort of history lay there as he moved to stand behind his supervisor. “Mister Crouch,” Percy whispered to the man, catching Crouch’s eye when he looked over his shoulder. “We have to consider the possibility that Mister Potter was not involved with this situation at all.” Loathe as he was to admit it and as much as he disliked Harry Potter in general, the boy seemed genuinely surprised to have his name called out at all, much less that it had made it into the Goblet in the first place. 

“Thank you, Weatherby,” Crouch growled before he shook his head and turned. “As of right now, Harry Potter is a champion to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

Severus stormed out of the room and Percy waited until Crouch had left as well, the other heads of the schools arguing as Percy slipped, unseen, towards Harry. 

“Potter,” Percy whispered as he grasped at the boy’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Harry whispered back, his eyes wide as he looked at Percy. “You have to understand that.”

Percy’s eyes searched Harry’s own before he released the boy. “Be careful.” Was all the advice he could give before he slipped away to follow Mister Crouch. The man was standing, hunched, his hand pressed to a stone wall as he stared off into the distance. Percy froze as he observed his supervisor’s tense, trembling position. He was an ex-auror and startling any level of auror could be deadly. “Mister Crouch?” He called out gently, making sure that the click of his boots could be well heard. “Are you alright?”

“Quite alright, Weatherby,” Crouch grunted, straightening as Percy peered at the man’s face. “My heart can’t take much more of this.”

“You don’t look well, sir,” Percy murmured, staring at the man’s pallid face. “Why don’t we go to Madame Pomfrey?”

“No, no, Poppy won’t appreciate an old man like me coming to her infirmary.”

Percy worried his lower lip before he suggested softly, “What about Professor Snape?”

“I would rather die,” Crouch snapped, causing Percy to flinch slightly. “Apologies, Weatherby, I know he’s your generation’s teacher, but he was… Quite something else to mine.”

“I understand, sir.”

Crouch stared at Percy quietly, searching the younger man’s face before he whispered. “Let’s pack things up, Weatherby. We’ll have to acquire another dragon and that paperwork will be difficult.”

“I’m sure I can pull a few strings,” Percy took a deep breath and smiled. “My brother works in the industry.”

“You have a brother in every industry, don’t you?” Crouch asked with a raised brow, his eyes curious and searching. “Got a Death Eater in the family by any chance?”

Percy thought of the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup and how he had survived a direct encounter with the rioting Death Eaters. “No.” He said simply, shaking his head. “Not that I know of.”

* * *

“Mister Crouch?” Percy called through the floo, scowling at the lack of response. “Mister Crouch, how are you feeling?” More silence. “I have some food for you.” He waved his wand and propelled one of Molly’s famous Weasley Get-Well hampers through the fireplace in Barty Crouch’s office. It had been weeks and without Winky to make food for the man or tend to him, Percy had taken it upon himself to send the man food every so often. It was thankless work, but the hampers would reappear in Crouch’s office in front of his fireplace, the food eaten and containers cleaned. 

Something was wrong, but Percy couldn’t do anything without potentially knocking over the house of cards he had built around himself. Severus walked a fine line of loyalty between Dumbledore and He Who Must Not Be Named. Dumbledore’s tenuous truce with the Ministry of Magic was also in jeopardy if this entire Tournament failed to go off without a hitch. With Barty Crouch now taken ill and seeing no one… Percy was right at the front line of this conflict and most likely to end up with a curse in the back if he made the wrong move. Regardless of whether or not it was a Ministry Official, a Death Eater, or one of Dumbledore’s most loyal members… Percy didn’t know who would take action against him, but he knew that he was not safe.

“Goodbye, Mister Crouch, I’ll write you about the Yule Ball.”

Percy felt strange attending the Yule Ball in the man’s place, but the letter that he had received at the beginning of the week had been rather explicit that Percy would be attending in Crouch’s stead, not anyone else. Standing, Percy sighed and let the fire go out as he checked himself over once more. His dress robes were sleek and green and Molly had made sure to comment her disappointment that Percy hadn’t purchased the burgundy ones that she had pointed out at Madam Malkins. When Hermes had arrived, bearing the rather enormous box from Twilfitt and Tattings Molly had wondered aloud who Percy was trying to impress.

Now, gathering a handful of floo powder, he wondered if his attempts would be well received by a certain Professor. “Severus Snape’s Office,” Percy said clearly before he tossed the floo in and walked through.

“Percy,” Severus sounded surprised despite his rather unsurprised expression. “I would have expected you to arrive through the Headmaster’s offices.”

“Perhaps I wanted to go unseen,” Percy smiled at the taller man, allowing his cloak to fall open and reveal his robes. “Or maybe I wanted to see you before the Ball?”

Severus’ eyes fixed on Percy and the man smiled despite himself. “Slytherin colors?”

“I was told recently that green suits me far more than burgundy,” Percy tilted his head to take in Severus’ appearance. He wasn’t even dressed for the celebration and Percy felt a twinge of disappointment. “You won’t be attending the Ball?”

“Unfortunately I have other duties to attend to,” The man cleared his throat and Percy could see him fiddling with his sleeve, redoing the buttons he had apparently undone. “I apologize for being unable to attend.”

“It’s all for the best, I suppose,” Percy reached down and took Severus’ arm, gently redoing the buttons for the man. “Though I will say I was looking forward to seeing you in dress robes.”

Severus gave a small cough and held out his arm to the younger man. “Come along, no sense in a rather high ranking Ministry Official being late to the party he’s hosting.”

“I just followed orders,” Percy laughed as he was led out of the man’s quarters. “All of my instructions were sent in letters, I merely had to read them aloud to the correct people.”

“I’m sure that you had more to do with it than you think,” Severus mused. They walked silently through the dungeon hallways before the man spoke again. “I almost regret that we cannot dance together.”

“Yes, it would be inappropriate,” Percy agreed, his cheeks flushed as he averted his gaze. “But I do regret not being able to dance with you.”

“You would regret dancing with me regardless,” Severus cleared his throat. “I’m a rather poor dancer.”

“I’d let you trod on my feet,” Percy smiled slightly before he forced his eyes up to Severus’. “Maybe next tournament.”

“Ask me again in three years,” Severus hummed. “If we’re still here.”

Percy was quiet for a long moment before he smiled and reached up, gently drawing Severus down for a brief kiss.

“Mister Weasley!” Severus hissed, glaring at Percy as his eyes darted around the empty corridor. “Anyone could have seen that-”

“As if the students would dare gossip about the Great Bat of the Dungeons,” Percy allowed the corners of his lips to tilt up. For a brief moment he allowed himself to relax, allowed his shoulders to drop as he looked up at his lover. There was so much he wanted to say, but to speak the words aloud would give them power that Percy was unsure he could handle. “Have a good evening, Professor Snape.” Percy turned and made his way to the Great Hall, his heart pounding in his chest as he did so.

The festivities were well under way as Percy slipped quietly into the Hall. Minister Fudge was speaking to Dumbledore while McGonagall and the other Hogwarts Professors chatted with Maxime and Karkaroff as well as one another. Students were dancing, some with more enthusiasm with others, and Percy smiled as he saw his brother dressed in the traditional Maroon robes that Molly had dug out for the boy. 

“Mister Weasley,” A smooth voice purred behind him and Percy straightened, swallowing tightly as he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Mister Malfoy,” Percy whispered. The man was dressed in green and black striped robes, the pattern aligned at the seams masterfully, creating the illusion that Lucius Malfoy was even taller and broader than he truly was. “I was unaware that you’d be here.” Percy arched a brow up at the taller man. “Gate crashing?”

“Guilty as charged,” The man smirked and snatched a glass of pumpkin juice clean from the air, swirling it in the glass until the orange liquid turned a deep red. “Very rude of you, Mister Weasley, to not invite the Board of Governors to the Yule Ball.”

“Oh, I did,” Percy hummed as he tilted his head away from the man, fixing on the dancing teenagers. “Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

“Was it even sent at all?” Lucius asked as he leaned closer. “You wouldn’t be avoiding me, would you, Mister Weasley”

Percy stiffened and refused to look back at the man, even as he felt warm breath against the back of his neck. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You’re a rather difficult man to pin down, Mister Weasley,” Lucius pulled back and circled around until he stood right in front of Percy, pressing the serpentine handle of his cane beneath Percy’s chin in order to force their gazes to meet, silver upon green. Slytherin colors. “Dance with me.”

“No,” Percy said simply. “What would your wife think?”

“Would you tell her?”

“I trust her to be an intelligent enough woman to figure it out,” Percy scoffed. “And I don’t want her wrath directed at me.”

“You take pleasure in denying me what I want, don’t you?”

“You take pleasure in the chase, don’t you?” 

Lucius smirked as he stared down at Percy, a gloved hand reaching down to pinch Percy’s chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I like winning.” The man whispered, and Percy stepped back.

“You’ll have to compete harder than that, Mister Malfoy,” Percy turned to go towards Dumbledore, perhaps McGonagall, only for Lucius to whisper.

“If it weren’t for me you’d be smeared across the campground months ago.”

A beat, then Percy turned to stare at the man, taking in Lucius’ self-satisfied smirk. “Oh?”

Lucius’ robes swept over the ground softly as he stepped closer to Percy, “I expect to be rewarded for sticking my neck so far out for you.”

This, Percy was sure, was political hell. “Enjoy the party, Mister Malfoy.”

* * *

Sign, stamp, place in the out-box and then move on. The tedium of work was soothing, allowing Percy’s thoughts to wander as he sorted through Barty’s correspondence. The man had still not shown his face and Percy was quietly worried about how much more frequently he had begun to notice Lucius Malfoy within the Ministry. Severus always reassured him that there was nothing to be concerned about, that everything was under control, that Dumbledore had a plan, that when the time was right Severus himself would tell Percy what was going on.

“This look suits you.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Percy cleared his throat and placed aside his quill. “Mister Malfoy, how can I be of service?”

“Interesting word,” Lucius walked along the edge of Barty Crouch’s office, looking at the man’s numerous awards, newspaper clippings. There were no photographs on the wall, only one on the desk of Mister Crouch’s late wife which Lucius turned carefully to look upon before he carelessly placed it face down. “Service.” 

“Let me rephrase that,” Percy stood behind the desk, his fingertips resting upon the desktop as he took a steadying breath. “What do you want? You seem quite intent on making demands, but never outright saying what it is you want of me.” Percy hoped that upper class politeness kept Lucius from saying what he truly wanted. Percy could still deny the man, could still dance around the request, if he feigned ignorance. If Lucius suddenly asked for what he wanted… 

Severus himself had said it wouldn’t be a betrayal, had reassured Percy countless times that he would understand whatever actions Percy had to take for his own safety.

“You, Mister Weasley.” Lucius said simply, staring at Percy intently. He didn’t even have to wave his wand for the office door to click shut and lock itself, trapping Percy within. “I want you.”

Percy didn’t ask why, merely stepped out from around the desk and tilted his head to look up at the other man. There was a challenge in his eyes, one of the few moments of Gryffindor courage he had ever felt, and Lucius grinned widely at that, reaching up to remove Percy’s glasses and place them aside on Barty Crouch’s desk. 

The kiss tasted like cigarettes and Percy imagined firewhiskey and moly on his tongue. He imagined dark hair instead of blonde and relaxed as much as he could, even as his stomach clenched and flipped and writhed like a snake thrown into a fire pit. They parted only briefly for air and in a moment Percy found himself lifted and all but thrown onto the desk, grunting as writing tools scattered over the ground and papers fluttered haplessly on the air. He gasped when Lucius’ hand slammed into his throat, fingers tight around the column of his neck, pinning him in place helplessly. 

Severus was rough with him often enough, and Percy found he enjoyed sharp, bruising bites to his body, but this was different. Severus would never hurt him, wouldn’t kill him, but Lucius’ eyes, pale and half mad with inbred insanity, made Percy tremble with fear even as he snarled and bared his teeth.

“Pretty little thing,” Lucius cooed, his grip tightening until Percy’s eyes rolled back, his vision going grey at the edges. “A pity that the diary was destroyed… Severus Snape told me that it was because you were rescued by Harry Potter.” The man pressed his wand to Percy’s chin, then trailed it down his throat, chest, stomach, down the front of a thigh to Percy’s knee. “You would have been perfect.”

Percy clawed at the man’s shoulder, fisting fine, expensive robes in his hand and yanking until Lucius released his grip on Percy’s throat. Breath rushed into the younger man’s lungs and those silver eyes stared down at Percy’s gasping, flushed face. “Shut up.” Percy had tears running down his face, his entire body shaking as Lucius sent his clothing ripping and fluttering away in shreds. 

“You’re quite lovely, you know,” The man pressed a kiss to Percy’s throat, down his chest, leaving rough bite marks in Percy’s skin, hard enough to leave rings and smears of blood among the faint freckles. “Despite your flaws, and those could be remedied with the right spells, you would have been the perfect vessel for my Master.”

Bile rose at the back of his throat and Percy turned his head away, arching his spine in an attempt to dislodge the man licking and sucking over his stomach and hips. He wanted to fight harder, but this… This was insurance. This was something he could clutch in his hands and use later. “Fuck you.” Percy hissed, his jaw clenched tightly as he felt Lucius’ fingers prying between his thighs, rough and careless of Percy’s own comfort. 

“Language, Mister Weasley,” Lucius cooed, grinning widely as he stared down at Percy, the boy’s unfocused gaze struggling to find anything to look at that didn’t make him sick. Percy yelped at the feeling of the man’s length pressed inside him, abrupt and rough as Lucius groaned and gripped at Percy’s chin and jaw, inches away from kissing Percy. “Kiss me.”

“No.” Percy snarled and Lucius blinked in surprise.

“No?” Lucius raised a brow down at him and Percy barred his teeth.

“Try it,” Percy hissed, glaring up at Lucius. 

“I don’t like being denied, Mister Weasley,” Lucius hissed, his lips brushing over Percy’s. 

The taste of blood shouldn’t be so familiar to him, but Percy worried quietly that he might be developing a taste for it. Lucius yelped and snarled, ripping back as Percy sucked on his teeth, cleaning the blood from them. Percy was a bit disappointed to see that his blood and Lucius’ blood were the same color, he half expected the man to bleed Slytherin green. 

Lucius’ hand cracked across Percy’s face, the man snarling as he gripped Percy’s jaw once more. Percy let out a wheeze and laughed as the man thrust against him, the jolting pain sending stars behind his eyes. 

“Fuck!” Percy hissed, his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers spasming as they grasped at the man’s robes, ruining finely stitched and patterned clothing. Lucius leaned closer, his forehead pressed to Percy’s. Fine strands of platinum hair curtained their faces and Percy might have thought it an intimate gesture if it weren’t for the way the man’s hips thrust rough enough that Percy worried that his thighs would bruise. “Kemp’s Curse!”

“You will say my name,” Lucius growled, his fingers tangled in Percy’s ginger curls. “Say it.” Percy hissed, his teeth gritted as Lucius stared down at him, eyes wild and vicious. “Say my name!”

“ _Severus_!” Percy gasped, shaking as realized what had slipped from his lips and the way Lucius’ eyes widened in shock. “ _Bartemius, Walden, Corban, Cornelius, John, Pius, Alastor, Albus, Peter_ \- ah!” Percy’s head fell back against the desk as Lucius snarled and covered his mouth, fucking into him harder than before.

“Shut up!” Lucius hissed, his forehead pressed to Percy’s, eclipsing his vision with nothing but silver irises and black pupils. “Shut up, just…” Lucius groaned and Percy’s eyes squinted as he felt the man’s hips press closer, solid thighs flexing against the backs of Percy’s own. “Fuck!”

A beat, Percy lay panting on the desk as Lucius’ own breath, smelling of cigarettes and peppermint, wafted across his face. 

“Get off me,” Percy whispered, his stomach muscles aching from how tense he had been the entire brief encounter. 

The older man didn’t need more encouragement than that, pulling back and casting a quick cleaning spell only on himself. Percy slid his own wand from the holster at his wrist and cast a few muttered spells. In moments he was dressed, cleaned, and the office was put back into order. Percy pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned his glasses, removing Lucius Malfoy’s fingerprints from them before he placed them back on his face. 

“Are we done here?” Percy asked calmly, refusing to let the man see how sore he was, how he still ached with pain and unrealized pleasure. 

“For now,” Lucius smirked at him. “Tell Barty that I said hello.”

Before he could respond the man turned and strode confidently out of the office. Once the door was closed and Lucius’ footsteps had receded, Percy sat down at the desk, his fist clenched against the edge of the desk. “Fuck.” He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to fight back tears. The clock on Barty Crouch’s desk chimed midnight, heralding the new year.

_Fuck._

* * *

“Gillyweed?” Severus hissed as he grasped at Neville Longbottom’s shirt collar, giving the student a rough shake that had Percy intervening. “You robbed my lab?!”

“I’m sorry!” Neville whimpered, staring up at his professor with wide eyes. “I just didn’t want him to lose!”

“Severus!” Percy hissed, grasping at the man’s trembling bicep. “Severus, drop him, he’s just a boy!” It was a dirty move, but Percy gripped at Severus’ left forearm, right over the painfully burning dark mark. 

“What else has Potter put you up to pillaging from my stores?” Severus hissed. “Boomslang skin? Lacewing flies?”

“Wh-what?” Neville stuttered, looking up at the man in confusion. “No - no, I just took the gillyweed and he didn’t even ask me for that!”

“A likely story,” Severus sneered and Percy placed himself as subtly between the man and boy as he could. “Potter is always behind everything, always instigating and encouraging his peers in their rebellion-”

“Severus!” Percy snapped, straightening to his full height, his tone warning. “Neville Longbottom is not Harry Potter.”

Dark eyes bore into his own and Percy was prepared for the man to strike him, only for Severus to turn his furious gaze to Neville. “Detention, Longbottom. Inventorying my stores for the next month.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Neville whispered before he made a quick escape, leaving Percy to stand staring up at Severus firmly.

“Percival-”

“Severus, would you rather the boy drown?” Percy asked simply, his fingers still wrapped around the man’s forearm. 

“I want him disqualified,” Severus hissed, glaring at Percy unseeingly. He wasn’t looking at Percy, he was staring into some strange distance that only he saw. “He shouldn’t be allowed to compete at all, this is all the machinations of… Someone… Someone working on behalf of the Dark Lord.”

Percy took a deep breath and gently released Severus’ arm. “I know.” An inquiring look and a pause before he glanced around. “Care to take a turn with me, Severus?”

The two of them walked alongside one another from the edge of the lake towards the Forbidden Forest in silence. It was a tense silence, and Percy could feel the man’s fury radiating from his body. They made it just into the darkness of the forest, where the sunlight seemed eclipsed away by the trees, not even allowing a faint dappling of sunshine. Luminescent mushrooms lit their way as they wandered and Percy knew he should be concerned, but trusted that Severus could get them back to the castle in moments with how confidently the man picked through the faint path worn into the forest floor. 

“Severus, stop,” Percy whispered, and the man froze, turning to stare at him silently, sullenly. 

“Lucius Malfoy gave me an interesting little tidbit earlier,” Severus whispered and Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Lucius Malfoy is a malfeasant abomination,” Percy reached out to the man, only for Severus to step back and raise a hand as if to strike away Percy’s own searching hands. “What did he say?”

“He was going to ask Fudge for you to be nearly fired,” Severus said simply. “He believes it would be a way for him to swoop in and endear you to him, saving your job.”

“Unfortunately for him, Cornelius Fudge does not have final say in everything,” Percy stepped closer to the taller man, picking his way past questionable flora. “I have committed no crime, and so long as that remains the case the only person who can fire me is Barty Crouch Sr.”

“Who might be dead,” Severus glared down at a particularly broad mushroom as if it had personally insulted him, his mother, and all Snape ancestors. “You haven’t laid eyes on him for weeks.”

“Months,” Percy corrected softly. “So long as I still get correspondence from… Whoever is pretending to be him the ruse can continue.”

“You are walking on a wire, Percy,” Severus whispered. “And Lucius knows something is happening. He feels it as well.”

“The mark?” Percy managed to snag the edge of the man’s sleeve, drawing his left arm closer and causing Severus’ body to follow. “Is it-”

“Darker. Nearly black,” Severus took a deep breath. “He’ll be rising again soon.” Percy’s fingers tensed before he wrapped them around the man’s wrist, drawing his arm around Percy’s own waist. “This is some… Ressurectionist nightmare. The Revelation days.”

Percy thought of the essay he had written for Charity Burbage as extra credit one semester. His voice was soft as he recited, _“People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, “Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?”.”_ Thin fingers delved into ginger curls and Percy allowed himself to be drawn close to the man’s chest. “I don’t want to think of this.” He managed, drawing Severus closer by grabbing fistfuls of the man’s dark cloak, drawing the voluminous fabric about both of their bodies. “Just… Hold me, Severus. Before we have to go back.”

There was a long silence where the only sounds were their breathing and the audible stillness of the Forest, as if nature itself held its breath for them. 

“I cannot lose you,” Severus whispered into Percy’s hair. “Not again.”

Percy didn’t know what the man meant, but he didn’t question it as he allowed himself to be held close, wishing quietly that they would remain there like statues, vines and foliage and mushrooms covering them, consuming them. From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust, so long as his essence mingled with Severus’ so that they might never be parted even in death.

* * *

Sneaking into Severus’ office was easier with Barty Crouch still recovering away from the office. Percy had stopped feeling guilt over using the man’s office so frequently to abuse not only the larger desk space, but the floo network. The risk of leaving for Severus’ office from his own home and being followed by a curious family member was too great, and the heads of magical departments did not have their floos tracked out of a sense of propriety, trust, and privacy. 

Stepping into Severus’ private office he smiled at the sight of the man seated at his desk, scrawling notes in the margins of some poor hapless student’s report on whatever nightmarishly difficult potion the man was trying to teach them. He waved his wand to send his cloak floating off to the hook beside Severus’ door, drawing the man’s attention briefly but not managing to tear those dark eyes away from his task.

“Hello, Severus,” He called out to catch the man’s full attention. 

“One moment, Percy, I’m-” Severus’ eyes fixed on him, his quill dripping scarlet ink like an open wound as he stared at Percy. “That’s new.”

“Well, if you don’t like it I can certainly get rid of it,” Percy raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. It had been something of a risky move, purchasing something purely for Severus’ gaze, but while Percy might not enjoy black quite as much as the utilitarian professor, he couldn’t deny that the tailor at Twilfitt and Tattings had outdone themself. 

“No, no, I just… I’ve never seen you wear silk.” Severus’ eyes didn’t know where to land, what to focus on as Percy stood in the fine silk robes, scandalously thin and quietly mimicking the shape of Severus’ own thick woolen layers. Where Severus’ robes were made to modestly (and protectively) cover every inch of his flesh, Percy’s seemed merely interested in taunting the man with the shape of his lover’s body beneath everything. “It’s lovely.”

“Wait until you see what’s beneath it,” Percy smirked quietly as he glided towards the more domestic section of the man’s private quarters. “While you finish that why don’t I put a kettle on?”

He didn’t manage to even make it in the general vicinity of the small breakfast nook in the corner of the man’s private quarters before Severus was kissing him, his fingers dragging and bunching up thin silk, searching for ties and buttons as his mouth ravaged Percy’s until his tongue and lips were sore. Thin fingers tangled in Percy’s curls, dragging his head back so that Severus could bite and suck at his throat, the dip where his shoulder met his neck, the delicate line of his collarbone. Percy hadn’t expected his clothing to last very long, but for Severus to just tear the fabric away without a care in the world within such a short amount of time was surprising enough to elicit a sharp gasp from Percy’s lips. 

“Severus!”

“Forgive me,” Severus smirked, staring down at Percy as the younger man gripped at his long, black hair. He snapped his fingers and in a moment the fabric was in shreds on the floor. “Much more civilized.”

“Bastard,” Percy laughed as uneven teeth sank into his throat. “You’re a menace.”

“You’re a minx,” Severus growled as he smoothed his hands over smooth, bare flesh. “Not even any underthings? Indecent.”

“I thought you liked traditional wizarding garb?” Percy teased. “You’re the one always going on about how student uniforms are so much more lax nowadays.”

“They are,” Was the only response Severus gave before he sprawled Percy over the narrow little breakfast nook’s table. With a yelp and some scattered laughter the older man managed to maneuver Percy’s legs over his shoulders, kneeling in front of the narrow wooden plank in order to press a kiss to the crease of Percy’s groin and thigh. Percy shivered and sank his fingers deeper into the man’s hair as Severus took his length in his mouth, curious and slow as he explored the feeling. 

“Fuck, that’s… Please keep doing that,” Percy hissed, craning his neck to look down as Severus took his time exploring, tasting, and analyzing just what he could do to make Percy’s body go limp. 

It was an embarrassingly brief encounter. Percy’s body wasn’t used to this new type of teasing and Severus himself was impatiently working his own length with a tight grip while he growled and moaned against Percy’s sensitive flesh. When they spent it left the two of them panting and staring at one another silently, hazy and pleased before Severus stood, kissing his way up Percy’s thigh, his hip, stomach, chest, until their lips met. 

Percy thought of Lucius Malfoy and his careless ministrations, how he would be lucky if he managed to even become aroused by the man fucking him. Severus was an impatient lover, true, but he was attentive.

“You’re a thousand miles away,” Severus whispered as he kissed Percy gently. “Come back to me.”

Percy focused on Severus’ dark eyes, adjusting his glasses before he wrapped his arms tightly around thin shoulders and pressed his nose softly to Severus’ in an affectionate gesture. “I’m right where I belong.”

* * *

“Madam Pomfrey,” Percy strode into the infirmary, his back ramrod straight and face pale as he took in the occupants of the room. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Severus, and Moody were all present, as well as Harry, an unconscious Viktor Krum and a very conscious and furious Igor Karkaroff. “Where is he?”

“Ah, Mister Weasley, it’s been too long since you’ve visited,” Dumbledore smiled. “The final task is almost-”

“Bartemius Crouch Senior,” Percy cut the Headmaster off. “Where is he?”

“He’s dead.” Harry said as he stared up at Percy. “I… I don’t know where he went. I went to find Professor Moody and when we came back he was gone and Krum was out cold.”

“I see,” Percy whispered, his jaw clenching as he took a deep breath. “Did he say anything?”

“No,” Harry said far too quickly, and Percy narrowed his eyes at the boy. 

The two of them stared one another down for a few long moments, Harry meeting Percy’s eyes with a challenge in his own, before Percy said, “What’s that? In your pocket?” It was a gambit, but it paid off when Harry’s hand immediately went to his pocket out of instinct. 

Severus scowled and grasped the boy’s wrist, fishing out the item that Harry was hiding from the group. “A potion label,” The man’s eyes scanned the label and he frowned, looking down at Harry, then at the label once more. “Where did you get this, Mister Potter?”

“It was in Mister Crouch’s hand when I found him,” Harry whispered as he avoided Severus’ gaze. Percy peered at the label, frowning as he made out familiar handwriting. 

“What is it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked and Percy stepped back, putting distance between himself and the others. 

“I believe Mister Potter has had quite enough excitement for the night,” Severus said simply, pocketing the slip of paper. “Headmaster Dumbledore, if I could speak with you?”

Percy glanced at the group before he cleared his throat, straightening his robes. “I will report this to the Ministry. An inquiry will be made. Headmasters, Professors, Madam Pomfrey, Mister Potter.” Percy bowed his head politely at the group then turned, trying not to shake in fear as he made his way back to Severus’ offices to floo back to the Ministry. He leaned over Barty Crouch’s desk and took a deep breath before he fumbled through his bag, digging out his tarot deck. 

“What is happening?” He asked the deck before he grabbed the top card.

Death. Percy’s fingers shook as he stared down at the upright card.

A beat, then another question. “Who is changing?”

The Lovers. 

Percy placed his hand on the desk, staring at the two cards. “He’s coming back.”

* * *

“Mister Weasley, do you understand why you are before the Wizengamot?” Madam Bones asked as he looked down at Percy. She had a way of seeming both severe and gentle at once, in a way that was comforting to Percy, even as he stood in a small bell shaped cage dangling barely a foot off the ground, his wrists bound with a hanging noose.

“I understand,” Percy whispered as he stared down at his bound hands. This particular noose, if he recalled correctly, had killed Elizabeth Clarke. He had worn the heavy rope for nearly a month now as he wandered about The Burrow, his parents and elder brothers casting him looks of quiet disappointment and remembrance whenever they asked him to use magic. Arthur sat now in the empty audience, a character witness, and a poor one at that. 

“You stand before us with a serious charge, as you were the only person who had any amount of contact with Bartemius Crouch Senior during his… Absence.” Madam Bones laced her fingers and glanced at Cornelius Fudge as the man stood, staring down at Percy silently. “Do you have anyone who can vouch for your actions? Any explanation as to why you did not tell anyone that you had not laid actual eyes on your supervisor for several months?”

“I believe I can help with that, Madam Bones,” A low, crooning voice called and Percy stiffened, turning to look over his shoulder at the man that approached the group. “Pardon my tardiness. Lord Lucius Erastus Malfoy.” His cane tip tapped upon the floor and Percy shivered as the man glanced at him. “How have you fared, Mister Weasley?”

He was in his robes, his glasses were still whole, and he had managed to avoid Azkaban. “Swimmingly, Lucius.” Percy said simply as he stared at the man. 

“I stand to vouch for Mister Weasley’s whereabouts and why he did not mention to anyone Mister Crouch’s absence.”

“Please, enlighten us, Lucius,” Cornelius Fudge glared down at him, and Percy glanced at Lucius in confusion.

“As many of you know, Mister Weasley, the younger, has been working tirelessly with the others in the Department of International Magical Cooperation on the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and had been receiving his orders via owl correspondence,” Lucius gestured to Percy. “Mister Weasley, the younger, seems to have taken after his father in that he has a proven vulnerability to the Imperius Curse.” A murmur rose from the witches and wizards and Lucius gestured to Cornelius Fudge. “Might I demonstrate this?”

“Now you see here, Malfoy!” Arthur stood abruptly, but Percy couldn’t turn in his cage and look at his father. 

Instead he heard a woman’s light, familiar voice practically sing out, “ _Imperio._ ”

Percy fell into darkness, his entire mind screaming that this was wrong, this was not meant to be happening. He wanted to kick, to howl like a deranged beast, to rip off his bindings and tear through the metal and escape this oppressive, suffocating darkness. 

“ _Finite Incantatum._ ” Lucius Malfoy’s voice called and Percy wheezed in a breath, all but collapsing in his cage as bile filled his mouth, burning his throat and mouth. “As you can see, Mister Weasley, the younger, is unable to even try to resist the Imperius Curse, and I have it on good authority that after finding out about the death of his supervisor that he was hazy, confused, and had no idea how such an event could occur.”

“Is this true, Mister Weasley?” Cornelius Fudge frowned and Percy nodded.

“Yes, it’s true,” The lie tasted worse than the bile. 

“Mister Weasley, the younger, is an upstanding citizen and a hard worker, loyal to the Ministry in a way that I myself find admirable,” Lucius Malfoy looked directly at Fudge and smirked. “I believe a vote is in order?”

“Those who find the accused guilty of conspiracy for murder and misuse of magic against a ministry official?” A few paltry hands rose at Fudge’s words, the man’s own hand resting upon his podium. “All who move to acquit the accused of all charges?” Fudge raised his own hand as others raised theirs. “Mister Percival Ignatius Weasley, you have been found innocent of all charges. You are free to go.” The cage opened, dropping Percy onto his weakened knees. 

“Take it off,” Percy whispered frantically, holding up his hands to Lucius as his head bowed, his breathing rapid. “Please, take it of, take it off!”

“There there, my boy,” Lucius waved his wand and the rope uncoiled itself from Percy’s wrists, falling limply like a dead snake upon the floor with an audible sound, as if it weighed more than just a few ounces of rope as it hit the tile. 

“Percy-” Arthur began, only for Percy to avoid his father’s eyes and speak over him.

“I want to leave, Lucius,” Percy whispered, his eyes wide and face pale with relief at his narrow escape. “Anywhere but here.”

Lucius smirked and wrapped his cloak about the younger man’s shoulders, drawing him to his side and sheilding him from Arthur Weasley’s eyes. “Of course, Mister Weasley.” Percy was sure that Lucius was staring directly at Arthur, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

They made their way to the floo network and Percy ignored his father as the man called out for him through the crowded halls. 

“Malfoy Manor,” Lucius called out and Percy felt himself being pushed into the floo. In a few moments he was stumbling into a fine parlour, decorated in green, black and silver, and when Lucius came through the man gripped Percy’s arm tightly. “Mister Weasley, you owe me quite a lot now.” Percy looked up at the man he now owed his life to, his heart pounding. “So I will be introducing you to someone I want you to serve unquestioningly, understood?”

With a mute nod Percy felt himself being side-along apparated, the whiplash of being transported to two separate places abruptly in such a short amount of time making Percy vomit the moment they arrived. 

“Clean yourself up, Mister Weasley,” Lucius scoffed and Percy shook as he drew his wand from the sheath at his wrist, cleaning up his mess, and then himself. He wiped his glasses with a soft cloth and then replaced them as he looked up at Lucius. “Come along, you’re presentable now.”

They walked through the dilapidated, half-rotten house, several windows were knocked out or boarded up, ivy had crept its way through the walls to tangle with chandeliers or seal doors shit. They came upon what Percy was sure had once been a dining room and stood before a table. There were Death Eaters seated in mismatched chairs, on crates. Percy recognized many of the men present, their masks cast before them and their hoods pulled back. MacNair, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, and even Peter Pettigrew stood among the group, but Percy’s eyes caught on Severus Snape seated at the right hand side of the head of the table, his face frozen in a mask of contempt as he looked away from Percy and to his left.

The thing standing at the head of the table looked positively Biblical. The skull was vaguely human shaped, but connected to a serpentine neck that coiled and writhed so that the body didn’t have to turn to look at anyone. Percy gasped and stepped back several feet until his back hit the door to the dining room when the body, swathed in dark robes, loomed up further from where it had apparently been seated. 

“Percival, is that how you greet an old friend?” The creature asked with Tom Riddle’s voice, extending first one, then two, then four slim arms as of waiting for Percy to fall into its embrace. 

“T-Tom?” Percy asked, choking on the name as he stared at this monstrous creature. 

“In the flesh, imperfect as it is for now.” The thing grinned, red eyes glittering like twin pools of blood as it stared down at Percy, it’s head barely brushing the ceiling. “Come here, come here, let me look upon you.” Malfoy pressed the handle of his cane to Percy’s back, forcing him to stumble forward until he passed all the other Death Eaters to stand at the empty seat to the creature’s left, the seat he assumed was reserved for Lucius. “Sit, my dear boy.”

Percy sat, staring at Severus across the wide table, his hands folded politely upon the tabletop out of habit. One thin, bony hand rested upon Percy’s, the other extended to grasp at Severus’ shoulder as Voldemort seated himself at the head of the table. 

“And now that all of my old friends are present… Let us get down to business.”

No one was at the Burrow to see the Weasley Clock chime as Percy’s hand, bearing his name and portrait, moved to _“Mortal Peril”_.


	5. Induratize: (v.) to make one’s own heart heartened or resistant to someone’s pleas or advances, or the idea of love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and the House of Horrors

Percy stood beside Cornelius Fudge with his arms folded over his chest, diary floating before him and Quick Quotes Quill scribbling furiously away as the man held his sixth meeting for the day. They were nigh endless, in Percy’s opinion, and often times dealt with little of consequence but on the rare occasion something worth noting happened. 

“We have to get rid of him, he’s stirring up enough trouble as it is, and him spending so much time with Dumbledore makes it even worse,” Fudge blustered as he mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief, his lime green bowler placed on the desk in front of him. 

“Of _course_ , Cornelius,” Dolores Umbridge simpered as she smiled up at the man, Mafalda Hopkirk looking at her two superiors worriedly. “It casts the Ministry in a bad light to have such lies floating about. You-Know-Who couldn’t possibly be alive and this is clearly the ravings and grandiosity of a deeply troubled young boy.”

Percy wondered if he’d have been so blind if he hadn’t found himself in the insidious grasp of Tom Riddle’s diary back at Hogwarts. Perhaps Fudge did know, but was merely trying to buy himself some time. Perhaps he had a plan. 

“Minister Fudge, I can do my part but… Expelling him for a Patronus Charm? What if he was in real peril?” Mafalda Hopkirk looked over at Umbridge from where the other woman was sipping at her overly-sweet tea. 

“Whatever it takes to silence the boy, if he’s stuck with those muggle family members until he’s of age then that buys us time!” Fudge glared at Mafalda, who looked down with a nod and a soft clearing of her throat.

“Yes, Minister Fudge,” She whispered, making a note on her own small diary. Percy felt for her, she was a good person, she didn’t deserve the utter hell that was about to be unleashed upon the Ministry. 

“Mafalda, Percival, if you would I’d like to speak with Dolores alone,” Fudge glanced up at Percy, who gave a quiet nod and closed his diary, capturing it and the wand with his hand before he strode from the Minister’s office. 

“Percival,” Mafalda called out and Percy paused in his clipped pace back to his own desk, turning to give her a brief, humorless smile. 

“Yes, Mafalda?” He asked as genially as he could manage. 

“Your… Your family is close with Harry Potter, right?”

“Unfortunately I am not close with my family because of that,” Percy held up his hand to stop her. “I know what you want me to do, and I admire your courage and kindness, Mafalda, but my hands are tied.” He rested a hand gently on her elbow and she looked up at him sadly. “My family has chosen their side in this and it is the wrong one. I will not let my love of my family cloud my judgment and loyalty to the Ministry.”

“Of course,” Mafalda shook her head and sighed. “How silly of me, I should have-”

“Don’t let Fudge hear you say things like that,” Percy whispered softly. “You’re too good of a person for us to lose.” The two of them shared a silent look and Percy offered a brief smile, even though it didn’t meet his eyes. “Good day, Mafalda.”

“Good day, Percival.”

They parted ways and Percy stood beside his desk, smoothing his hand over the leather protector before he sat down and reached under the desk. His old book bag from school, now with an undetectable extension charm, had become quite useful over his time spent between the Ministry and Riddle House. His clothing and belongings had been cleared from the Burrow in the course of one night. Molly had cried the entire time and Percy had steeled his own heart against her tears. She’d be in more danger, they all would, if he stayed, and he couldn’t afford his family asking questions he couldn’t answer. 

Pulling his scroll case from the bag he grabbed a muggle fountain pen that he had purchased weeks ago when he had found out that his quills were all enchanted to duplicate anything he wrote using them. Uncapping the pen he checked it with a brief tracing spell, ensured that it wasn’t enchanted, before he began to write.

_Severus,_  
_They are moving to expel Harry Potter and then place him on trial before the Wizengamot to distance him from Dumbledore. Destroy this note._  
_P_

He slipped the note into the scroll case and then placed the case back into his bag. 

It was another half an hour before Umbridge left the office, her kitten heels clicking upon the ground as she walked briskly towards Percy’s desk. “Percy-” She began, only for Percy to cut her off.

“Percival, if you please,” He looked up from his diary, straightening his quill so that it was perfectly parallel to the edge of the book. “How can I help you, Dolores?”

“Your family is close with Mister Potter?” She inquired, her voice lilting sweetly as she stared down at him.

“I am not close with my family,” Percy said simply. The woman’s lips thinned further and she glared at Percy before he looked down at his diary, clearly dismissive. “If there’s nothing else, I have work to do, Dolores.”

“You are quite calm for someone who was arrested not a month ago,” Umbridge didn’t scowl, but her eyes burned into Percy’s as he looked up at her. 

“I don’t plan on going anywhere, Dolores,” He said simply as he stared right back at her. “I think you’ll find that I’m much more difficult to get rid of than that.”

“We’ll see,” She gave a smile, her pink lipstick smudged over her teeth as she turned away. “Have a good day, Percival.”

“You as well, Dolores,” Percy picked up his quill and looked down at his diary to make a note. 

_Harry Potter cast Patronus Charm, Hearing to take place 12th August 1995._

He had to trust Severus to do the right thing in time. 

The rest of the office slowly filtered out one by one, and Percy waited until it was well and truly empty, save for the custodian he could hear pushing his cart around several halls away. Stepping into Cornelius’ office he took a deep breath and whispered “Riddle House” before throwing a fistful of floo powder into the flames. 

Riddle House would have once been a beautiful sight to behold, the grandest building in all of Little Hangleton with its dozens of rooms and wings and great glorious windows. Now it was as much a mausoleum as the others in the nearby graveyard. There were a few other Death Eaters in the building, but they didn’t live there. Percy and Pettigrew were the only two left to live with and serve Voldemort. 

“Percival,” The man’s voice called and Percy froze as he turned to the small balcony that led to the overgrown gardens. Stepping through the half-torn off doors Percy looked over and saw Voldemort sitting with a simple black diary in hand, Percy’s mirrored handwriting upon it. “I see you were quite busy today.”

Percy folded his hands behind his back and nodded as he looked at the creature before him. Voldemort’s serpentine neck turned his semi-human head and he stared at Percy expectantly. “I will be going to the Hanged Man to get dinner for us.” Percy said simply. “Is there anything else you’d like me to get for you?”

“No, that will be all,” Voldemort hummed as he looked down at the pages of the diary. 

Percy didn’t move, frozen in places as he was, and after a moment Voldemort looked at him, those pools of fresh blood swimming with an emotion Percy couldn’t place. “Would it be too bold of me to ask a question?”

“Of course not,” Voldemort hummed as he closed the diary, giving his full attention to Percy. 

“The diary was a Horcrux,” He was sure of it. “But after it was destroyed I still-”

“Heard my voice?” Voldemort gave a small expression that Percy was sure was a smirk. “And you want to know why?”

“Yes,” Percy whispered softly. “I feel I deserve to know.”

“You do,” The man’s body turned fully to face Percy. “What is the purpose of a diary, Percival?”

Percy frowned. “To write in.”

“To pour yourself into. Your heart and soul, your dreams and fears and ambitions,” The man gently reached out with one of his four arms and touched Percy’s chin, sending freezing shocks of fear through the young man’s skin before he pulled back. “I put my soul into that diary.” Those freezing cold fingers pulled back. “And when you wrote into it, a small, minuscule part of your own soul was placed in it.” 

Green eyes met red and Percy’s heart was pounding as he whispered, “Will I… If you die… Will I die?”

“So long as I live, you live,” Voldemort reassured as he grasped Percy’s jaw tightly. “But I shall never die, Percival. I shall become the Master of Death, and you will live alongside me.” Percy felt tears spilling down his face and Voldemort let out a small tsk, gently tutting Percy as his thin thumb wiped at those tears. “No tears, Percival, soon you will come to see things my way.”

* * *

_Severus,_  
_Harry Potter’s hearing to be changed to now, send Dumbledore._  
_P_

Percy clicked the scroll case closed, glancing at Fudge as the man slipped into the chambers, the door swinging shut behind the man but not before Percy could get a glimpse of Lucius Malfoy. He could feel Umbridge’s eyes on the back of his head and worried that her suspicion might result in him losing the job he had just managed to get. 

Dipping his quill into the inkwell Percy glanced over at Fudge as the man sat and the doors to the chambers opened to reveal Harry Potter, alone and looking nervous as he stood dressed in a set of Arthur’s robes. Percy took a deep breath and avoided looking at Harry as he made a note. He wondered if Voldemort was reading his notes attentively, locked away in the Riddle House simmering and seething and biding his time. 

Relief flooded through him as Dumbledore entered the room, the man standing towering over Harry even as the Ministry workers peered down at the two wizards that stood before them. 

Percy wasn’t sure what he had expected to happen, but when everything was said and done and the case against Harry Potter dismissed, he wasn’t expecting Fudge’s wand to throw a curse at the chair where Harry had sat. 

“Dismissed,” He hissed, and the Wizengamot quickly escaped the room, like a flock of bats escaping a darkly tiled cave. “Percival.” Fudge called and Percy stood, looking at the man calmly. “Dolores Umbridge will be the new Defense Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts this year. All of her correspondence is to be given the highest priority and any request she makes is to be granted.”

“Of course, Minister Fudge,” Percy bowed his head and stood, gathering up his quill and the transcript of the hearing as he made his way back to the Minister’s offices.

* * *

The first person to come across the Boggart in Riddle House had been Sylvester Crabbe. The man hadn’t even been aware that it was a Boggart due to the fact that it had taken Voldemort’s form as it sat in one of the many dilapidated bedrooms, eyes turned to the door that Crabbe had come through. Lucius, Pettigrew, and MacNair also encountered the Boggart without realizing what it was. It wasn’t until Narcissa Malfoy, accompanying her husband on Voldemort’s summons, encountered the body of her only son that anyone realized what had happened. 

Tom had laughed and named the Boggart “Lamont” and decided to keep the creature around rather than banish it. It moved freely about the house and Percy had come across it several times, each time failing to banish it or simply running away for fear that it was actually Voldemort. 

Tonight was different and Percy scowled as he lay in his bed, staring up at the looming face of Voldemort, the man’s wide, serpentine jaws grinning down at him, dripping blood-tinged saliva as four hands pinned to either side of his body. 

“ _Confringo_.” He snarled, blasting the boggart into the ceiling above the simple mattress that smelled like beer and semen and bad teenage decisions. The Boggart squealed and Percy turned, sending another blasting curse at the Boggart. “ _Levicorpus_! _Iaculare_!” Percy felt out of breath as he chased the Boggart down a hallway as the creature skittered away on all fours in a way that was distinctly un-Voldemort-like. 

“Percy-” The familiar voice didn’t register at first and Percy’s wand turned, the tip glowing with a curse before he realized who it was. 

“Severus.” He gasped, his arms instantly wrapping around the man tightly. 

“Is he here?” Severus asked, and Percy shook his head.

“Only Pettigrew, and he’s probably down at the Hanged Man getting sloshed.” Percy kissed Severus’ lips softly. “H-He is out on business only he knows about. He’s been gone for two days.”

Severus smiled against Percy’s mouth and cupped his jaw softly, “So that thing you were chasing-”

“Boggart,” Percy shook his head and gently nibbled at Severus’ lower lip. “He likes keeping it around, named it Lamont and everything.”

“… He always keeps the most charming pets,” Severus said dryly, his fingers cradling Percy’s head as he looked down at him. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t come sooner.”

“It’s fine,” Percy silenced the man and wrapped his arms around thin shoulders, sinking his fingers into fine wool and dark hair. “I missed you.”

“Come, out of the hallway,” Severus gently released Percy’s curls and Percy gripped the man’s hand, pulling him down the hall to his room. The man’s eyes lingered on the rather questionable mattress on the floor and the graffiti covering the walls and floor. “Delightful.”

“It’s better than the basement,” Percy said simply. “Pettigrew claimed that area, I won’t go near it.”

“Suitable for a rat,” Severus stepped forward, his palms cupping Percy’s cheeks gently. “You’re alright?”

“I’m scared, Severus,” Percy whispered. “I don’t know how alright I can be when I’m scared to sleep at night.”

“You haven’t been placed under the Imperius?”

“Not since my hearing,” Percy kissed Severus’ palms softly, his lips running over the curve of his thumb as he looked up at the potions master. “And you?”

“Sleepless as well,” Severus sighed. “Dumbledore is searching for Horcruxes. He believes that there’s one hidden in this house.”

Percy nodded as he stroked his hand over Severus’ side. “I think so too, but I haven’t found it.”

“Keep looking, write me if you find it,” Severus cast a few cleaning spells and wrinkled his nose when the house didn’t even seem to revive more than a few scant layers of grime. 

“You don’t want to think of the mattress,” Percy gave a wry look to the man. “The Fortescue’s of Semen, over a hundred different flavors.”

The two of them stared at one another for a long moment before Severus snorted and ran a hand over his head. “You are disgusting.”

“You love me,” Percy said casually, tilting his head to look up at the man looming over him. 

“Beyond all reason,” Severus whispered, stroking his fingers over Percy’s jaw. 

Percy tilted his head into the touch, his own hand curling about Severus’ wrist. “Did you only come here about the Horcrux?”

Severus one long finger curved over Percy’s lower lip and he smiled, brushing his tongue against the pad of the man’s finger, tasting dittany and dragon’s blood. “Lucius has made some braggadocios noise about how he could place the Dark Lord’s pretty pet weasel under the Imperius and get you to do anything he’d want.” Percy stiffened at that and Severus kissed him softly. “I came to teach you how to properly resist the Imperius curse.”

Percy tilted his head up and Severus pressed a kiss to his lips. “And how will you do that when Professor Lupin couldn’t even get me to stay conscious under it?”

Severus smirked, his lips curving against Percy’s. “Remus Lupin couldn’t promise to let you orgasm if you manage to resist.”

“No fa-”

“ _Imperio_ ,” Severus intoned, and Percy fell into darkness easily.

He wasn’t sure how long he was under the influence of the spell, but when he was released from it it must have been only moments later because Severus was still dressed and Percy was pinned to the wall, his jumper shoved up his chest and his trousers just undone. The man was worrying a mark into Percy’s neck, his breath warming the chilled skin and Percy was moaning so loudly he was glad that no one else was in the house to hear him. Where he would fight every noise that Lucius Malfoy attempted to wring out of him, Percy didn’t even bother trying to censor himself as Severus bit and licked over his jaw and neck, delving briefly into Percy’s mouth to steal a long kiss. 

“Fuck,” Percy murmured.

“Such rude language,” Severus purred, gliding his tongue over Percy’s lower lip. “It seems you didn’t learn your lesson.”

“Severus, ple-”

“ _Imperio_.”

He really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was. It would probably be worse to get aroused whenever someone cast an Imperius curse than if he merely blacked out entirely. Percy made an attempt to fight the spell, coming out of it only when Severus lifted it and Percy found himself with his lips wrapped eagerly around the man’s length. He blinked up at Severus and moaned, moving and sucking and staring up at the looming figure above him. 

“Are you still under the spell, or are you merely that eager for me?” Severus teased, his fingers tugging at Percy’s curls as the younger man moaned and swallowed as much of his lover’s length as he could. “ _Imperio_.”

He’d look ridiculous if Voldemort ever put him under the curse and he immediately sported an erection. Percy concentrated on the feeling of the curse pressing against the enduring darkness that shrouded his mind, searching for the edge as if it were a curtain over a window. He didn’t manage to tear the curtain aside when he woke, Severus lifting the spell just long enough for Percy to realize he was being pinned to the bed. He shivered as he realized his wrists held over his head in one of the man’s long-fingered hands, his legs wrapped around Severus’ waist tightly. 

“One more try,” Severus whispered as he maintained an agonizingly slow pace. “If you can’t break free I won’t let you finish.” His free hand stroked Percy’s length and before Percy could even protest he whispered, “ _Imperio_.”

Percy grasped at the dark curtains surrounding his mind and tore them down, feeling flickers of light and consciousness fill him as his vision focused on Severus’ panting, groaning face. He was handsome, Percy decided. With his distinguished nose and dark, drawn brows. His face had signs of age, but he wore it well and when Percy slipped his hand up the man’s jaw Severus’ eyes snapped open and stared down at him. 

“P-please,” Percy gasped. “Severus, please.”

Severus groaned and leaned down, sealing his lips over Percy’s. “Very good, Percy.” He whispered into the younger man’s soft, pliant mouth, his hand stroking even faster over Percy’s length. “Perfect.”

Percy whined and shivered, his legs shaking with the force of his orgasm, his head thrown back on the mattress as he called out a litany of, “Fuck, Severus, Severus, please, yes, fuck, yes, Severus.” The man groaned into his jaw and Percy clutched at dark hair before his limbs seemed to lose all strength as he felt the slick warmth of the other man’s spend. 

They lay together panting on the bed before Severus pulled out and murmured a quick cleaning spell. Percy didn’t let him move too far away, keeping a firm hold of the man’s robes to draw him down. “Stay with me.” He whispered, staring up at his lover. “Just for a bit.”

“It’s almost dawn,” Severus whispered back, kissing Percy’s lips. “I have classes.”

“Tell Dumbledore you’re sick,” Percy returned the kiss, drawing the man closer. “Tell him you couldn’t possibly come to classes.”

“I can’t,” Severus murmured as he stroked his hand over Percy’s spine, his waist, his thigh. “I wish I could stay.”

“I wish we could run away,” Percy countered.

“I love you,” Dark eyes fixed on him and Percy smiled as he leaned up to steal another kiss.

“I love you too, Severus.”

* * *

Champagne was a most useless drink, Percy decided as he sipped from the slender flute he had picked up from the platter floating delicately around the room. Lucius and Narcissa were smiling as they introduced various friends and family and acquaintences and made their turns about the room. Draco had slipped out of the celebrations with some of his school friends and when Percy glanced up he could see Severus sitting in the corner opposite him, nursing his own glass of champagne and overall scowling at the Mabon festivities. Percy found it ironic that Malfoy had decided to host a masked ball and that half of the Death Eaters present were wearing masks that echoed their more terrifying full-faced ones.

“Enjoying yourself, Mister Weasley?” Lucius purred into Percy’s ear and Percy glanced away from Severus’ masked face to look up at the blond man. “You’ve hardly moved all night.”

“I happen to believe in older traditions for Sabbats,” Percy gave a disapproving look to the room decorated with autumn leaves and cornucopias and apples stuffed with candles. “This is all just show and no substance.”

“How rude,” Lucius whispered, his hand stroking over the small of Percy’s back gently. “And why did you come in the first place?”

Percy glanced up at Lucius. “Your Master wished for time alone in his family home.”

“He is your master as well, now,” Lucius stiffened at the mention of the thing that lurked in the Riddle House. Percy wondered if the man felt like the Riddle House was his own, if that was why he wished to celebrate Mabon without anyone else invading his sanctuary. “Come with me.”

“Your wife is not ten meters away,” Percy hissed softly, his eyes glancing to Severus, who was watching him now, dark eyes fixed upon his own. 

“She will not mind,” It was a lie even to Percy’s ears as he allowed himself to be led away by Lucius’ insistent hand. “Come along, Mister Weasley.”

Percy allowed himself to be led away, glancing nervously over his shoulder as the doors to the grand ballroom swung shut behind them. He half expected to be taken to the master suite, but was relieved when he was led to a corridor that seemed to be the furthest distance from the room where Lucius shared a bed with his wife. 

“You’re quite lovely,” Lucius whispered, lifting Percy’s mask from his face. It was actually his glasses, enchanted to look like autumnal leaves in gold and red and orange over his face. When they were placed aside on the nightstand they turned back into their more mundane appearance. “But of course you knew that.”

“I like hearing it,” Percy said softly as he looked away from the man. Lucius gave a soft purr and Percy thought of Severus, just outside, and how much he wished it was the potion master’s fingers on his robes, undoing them, tracing the lines of his body slowly, gently. 

That was what made Percy frown and look up at the man. Gentleness was unusual in these encounters with Lucius. 

“You look… So much like him,” Lucius’ eyes fixed on Percy’s and his hand traced over the younger man’s jaw. “Not exactly, not a mirror image… Certainly not as he is now… But back when he was younger.”

Percy didn’t need to ask to know who the man was talking about. 

“I loved him, you know,” Lucius pressed a soft kiss to Percy’s jaw, avoiding his mouth for fear of Percy biting him hard enough to draw blood. “But he is incapable of love.”

“Your wife loves you,” Percy whispered as he stared at the door to the room. There was someone on the other side, he could feel it. “You should go to her.” 

“Do you love me?” Lucius asked, and Percy sneered, turning his head away entirely . “Answer me.”

“No,” Percy said simply. “I don’t love you.”

He didn’t expect the strike across his face, and in an instant his wand was drawn. “ _Expelliarmus_!” Lucius snarled and Percy was blasted into the door, his head cracking upon solid wood. “Say it.” The man growled and Percy slapped his own hand against Lucius’ face, sending his mask that Lucius hadn’t removed skittering across the floor. “Say it!”

“Fuck you!” Percy kicked at the man, his eyes fixed on Lucius’ own gaze. “Let me go.”

“No.” Lucius gripped at Percy’s wrists. “You think you wouldn’t have been left to rot if it weren’t for me? You owe me your life, and you will give me what I want.”

“I’d rather kiss a acromantula,” Percy hissed, baring his teeth viciously.

Lucius’ lips pressed to Percy’s as his hands ripped at the younger man’s clothing, scattering his fine robes over the floor while Percy bit and gnawed at the man’s mouth, drawing blood and tearing at delicate flesh in an attempt to be released. It didn’t take much work for Lucius to pin Percy in place with magic, and Percy immediately turned his head away and screamed into the air in hopes that someone would hear him. 

“ _Silencio_!”

Perhaps it was a mercy that his cries were silent. The pain in his throat and the aching in his lungs followed not with the sound of his own screams and howls and sobs, but with enduring nothingness. His head slammed back against the door with each hard thrust as Lucius worked his length inside Percy. After a few moments of pain he tilted his head to stare at Lucius, his lower lip trembling and his entire body limp as he glared at the man. 

He wasn’t sure if Lucius actually finished, or if he merely grew unsettled by Percy’s piercing gaze, but in a few moments he was pulling back and Percy felt his feet hit the soft carpeted ground. 

“ _Accio_.” Lucius gestured to his mask and it flew into his hands. “Good evening, Mister Weasley.” The man apparated away to avoid moving a still trembling Percy from in front of the door. 

Percy took a deep breath and moved to sit on the edge of the bed that he and Lucius had never made it to. There was a knock on the door a few moments later and Percy threw something small and expensive looking at the door. A moment, then the door opened and Percy looked up to grab something else to launch at whoever came in.

Severus slipped into the room, his shoes cracking upon the fragile remains of the object Percy had shattered.

“Did you hear that?” Percy asked softly, and Severus nodded silently. 

“You don’t have to do this,” The man whispered as he knelt before Percy, stroking his hand over the younger man’s wrists, his arms and shoulders. Severus’ face gave none of his emotions away, his voice even more steady as he stared up at Percy with those fathomless black eyes. Sitting here, so close, Percy observed how they weren’t pure black, but a deep and endless brown, like the earth at the end of a grave. “You don’t have to do any of this. I could tell Dumbledore, I could have you taken to the Order, your family would-”

“No,” Percy shook his head softly. “It’s… It’s too dangerous. He thinks that I’m…” Percy sobbed and pressed his forehead to Severus’ shoulder, hiding in his dark hair as if that inky blackness might shield him from the world. “He thinks that I’m a horcrux now… That… Because I used his diary so much, because I hear his voice, that he’s… He’s inside me.” Percy lifted Severus’ hand to his own chest, letting the man feel his pounding heart. “I can’t risk that. If I’m with the Order, with my family, then he might see.” Severus stared at him and Percy whispered softly. “Please, just… Hold me.”

“I can fix this,” Severus whispered, his fingers stroking over the younger man’s face. “I can fix this, I can save you.”

“You can’t,” Percy whispered softly. “When… When he dies…” Percy looked down at Severus’ potion-stained fingers. “When he dies I’ll be free.” He looked up at Severus’ dark eyes and kissed the man softly. “So tell Dumbledore to hurry.”

* * *

Percy sat at the desk he had commandeered in the Riddle House. It was tucked away deep in the library that was filled with half-rotten muggle books, most with pages ripped out of them carelessly by teenagers set out to vandalize the place. Graffiti was splashed along all of the walls of Riddle House, but this room in particular had suffered the worst destruction. The desk that Percy was seated at had been missing half the legs, and Percy could see names and hearts and phrases carved into the surface as he unpacked his scroll of spare parchment. 

_E+R 4EVER_

_CARRIE WYATT EATS SHIT_

_1976 - THE YEAR OF LOVE_

_FUCK YOU FRANK BRYCE_

_I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE, BUT I DON’T WANT TO DIE._

Green eyes rested on that last carving and Percy gently traced his fingers over the letters, etched so deep that no amount of sanding or muggle repair would ever vanish them. He used his wand to slice off a piece of parchment, folding it carefully to make sure that his seams would line up properly when he was done. 

_Dear Ron,_

Percy hesitated, staring down at the letter, struggling to find the words to say what he wanted to his brother. He wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him that he was doing this for their family. 

Even that, somehow, tasted a lie.

_I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect. I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the "Fred and George" route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility._

At least that was honest, even if the man that Ron had aligned himself to would likely get him killed and see it as an acceptable sacrifice. 

_But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions._

Undoubtedly Ron would show their parents. He could imagine Molly and Arthur’s outrage. Could practically hear Fred and George shouting to destroy the letter. What would Bill think? He had gotten a cushy desk job at Gringotts in London after Percy’s arrest. Charlie… Charlie was still in Romania, and if he was smart he’d stay away.

_From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternisation with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this - no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite - but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different - and probably more accurate - view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing - and see if you can spot yours truly!_

Percy had smiled for that photograph, even if it hadn’t reached his eyes. Fudge loved cameras, the press, and Lucius Malfoy had good friends at the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter was an old school mate of his, apparently, and more than willing to indulge the man’s grandiosity in exchange for what she deemed an inside scoop. Percy wondered what Lucius had traded for this article in particular.

_Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality if you ask me and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt._

That technicality was that Harry Potter’s paranoia was well founded. Percy had seen the correspondence on Fudge’s desk, had seen that Dolores Umbridge had sent the two Dementors to Little Whinging in order to try and have Harry Potter kissed. That would have been an easy solution to all of their problems, but it had failed. 

Percy wondered why Harry had not been placed in the cage, or bound with a hanging noose. Perhaps because they knew he wasn’t a Death Eater and Percy’s only saving grace was that his arm was unblemished. 

_It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter - I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will be only too happy to advise you._

Umbridge was a sickeningly sweet cow and that lie felt worse than the actual truth. That she was of the exact same cut as Death Eaters, even if she never took Voldemort’s mark upon her arm.

_This leaves me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years!_

He wanted to tell Ron to get out. Leave. Never return to Hogwarts, to England, that it was no longer safe for him, but he couldn’t.

_I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore (if you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders). I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people - the Minister really could not be more gracious to me - and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes._

Percy stared at the letter and wiped at his eyes to keep tears from staining his hard work.

_Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect._  
_Your brother,_  
_Percy_

“Sentimentality does not suit you, Percival,” Voldemort’s voice whispered and Percy glanced over his shoulder at the man. “Your brother is a lost cause.”

“He isn’t,” Percy whispered as he folded and sealed the letter. “Misguided, but not a lost cause.”

“Hm,” Riddle stared at Percy for a long moment before he gestured for the younger man to follow him. “I wish to show you something, Percival.”

The monster that spoke in Tom Riddle’s voice led Percy through the house, into the back garden, and then into the woods. Voldemort’s footsteps barely made a sound even as he walked barefoot over sticks and grass and rocks while Percy clumsily stumbled along behind the man.

He expected them to come upon a clearing, but instead there was a small shack wedged among the thickest of the trees. Stinging nettles had overtaken the walls of the shack, and the roof was entirely gone, but it still stood by some magic or force of ancient stubborn will. “What is this place?”

“My mother’s family home,” Voldemort said as he waved his hand and the door opened. Percy wrinkled his nose at the smell of rot that wafted out but didn’t do much else as he followed the man inside the shack. “The House of Gaunt in all of it’s glory.”

There was something evil inside the house and it was different yet similar to Voldemort’s own aura permeating through everything. Percy glanced up at the man before he walked around, picking his way around holes in the floor, opening a cabinet to check inside, then another. 

“You won’t find anything here,” Voldemort called out in amusement. 

“What am I meant to even be looking for?” Percy asked. “Perhaps I’m just curious.”

“Indeed,” Voldemort stepped forward and tilted his head. “What are you curious about?”

“Heir of Slytherin,” Percy rested his hand upon the wall. “I would have expected something grander from the termination of the Slytherin line.”

That riled the man and Voldemort straightened, glaring at Percy. “How do you come to this conclusion?”

“Riddle is a Muggle family,” Percy looked at the Dark Lord. “All of the books within are Muggle. You can tell a lot by a home from the books kept.”

“Indeed,” The man gave an amused look around the shack. “Do you see any books here?”

“No, which only makes me more curious,” Percy stroked his hand over a window sill, as if the house itself might open up and tell him what secrets lie within.

“The Gaunts were a family of drunkards and wretches,” Voldemort said simply, waving his hand dismissively. “Which is why I did away with them.”

Percy looked down at his hand and then up at Voldemort. “How did you find out your true lineage?”

“There are magics that they don’t teach you at Hogwarts,” Riddle stepped forward, his hand resting upon Percy’s shoulder, stroking down his arm in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “I can teach you, Percival.”

Percy shook his head and looked away from the man. “What would I do with the likes of horcruxes and blood spells?”

“Save the ones you love,” The man scoffed. “You must forget about them, Percival. They’ll only hold you back.”

Percy looked down and nodded, thinking of his letter to Ron. “One last letter… Then… And then I wash my hands of them.”

* * *

The offices were quiet. Everyone had gone home, even the custodian. Percy stared at his open diary in front of him. He hadn’t written anything all day besides the date. 

_17 December 1995_

The stillness and silence was deafening. It was no longer the 17th, it was well past midnight, and Percy was well and truly alone. Opening his bag he hesitated for a moment before he reached in and waited. 

Nagini’s powerful body coiled around his wrist, arm, and then up to his shoulder. Percy stiffly waited until even the serpent’s tail was free of the bag, tightly grasping at Percy’s wrist, before he straightened and took as deep of a breath as he could with the snake constricting his chest. There was something terrifying about walking through the Ministry at night with a giant snake wrapped around him. If a wizard didn’t kill him he didn’t doubt that Nagini had orders from her master to kill him so that he wouldn’t talk. 

The elevator doors rattled shut and Percy took another quiet breath, staring at the bars as they lowered even further into the Earth.

“Level Nine, Department of Mysteries,” The disembodied voice of the elevator itself called our and Percy took a shaking step out of the elevator. 

Nagini slithered down his body, around his waist, his leg, onto the floor gracefully, blinking her big, dark eyes up at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” He whispered as he looked at her. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” The snake seemed to accept that and slithered along the ground, Percy following her as she slipped through barred gates. Percy hesitated before he reached out and grasped the handle of the gate and pushed it open easily. Perhaps Unspeakables had no fear of others just trying the doors and that’s why they were unlocked.

Percy’s oxblood boots were a stark contrast to Nagini’s dark green body, reflected in the black tiles that lined every inch of the Department. Nagini stopped in front of a great black door with an enormous knob that Percy used both hands to turn and open the door. The Hall of Prophecy stood silent, illuminated only by the glows of the beautiful blown glass baubles. Percy wasn’t sure if Nagini could read, but he decided not to chance it and follow a snake’s guidance blindly. He looked up at the label beneath the nearest prophecy, and then another. 

None of them were alphabetical and as Nagini slithered along the floor Percy wondered how on earth they were meant to find the Prophecy that Voldemort demanded, half mad in Riddle House screaming at his more loyal followers. He only knew that it would have Harry Potter’s name on it. 

“Nagini?” Percy called out softly, confused at the absence of the snake along the grated floor, only to jump when he heard a body thump to the ground. “ _Lumos_!” Percy whispered and his wand tip illuminated. He raced through the aisle and froze when he saw a glint of the snake’s great, scaled body. 

She reared back and then struck down against a familiar red head. 

“Daddy!” Percy shouted, his voice cracking as he raced forward. “No! No, no, no, no, no!” He fell to his knees beside his father’s fallen body and Nagini let out a low, threatening hiss. “ _Vu-vulnera Sanentur_!” Percy tried to heal the bleeding, but the wounds would not close. “Fuck, fuck, Daddy, no, please, no.” Percy cupped his father’s face in his hands and stared down at him. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m so sorry.” He choked on his voice as his father stared up at him, confused and hazy, not even in his right mind as the venom started to course through his veins. 

_Percival, do not let them catch you!_

Percy squeezed his eyes shut and gave his father’s forehead a kiss before he stood and stepped back. “Nagini, come.” He whispered, holding out his arm to the snake. She coiled up his wrist, his forearm, and her head tucked against his neck as he slipped down the aisles, his footsteps echoing loudly, joined by other footfalls rushing towards the fallen Arthur Weasley.

He slipped out of the Hall of Prophecy and into the elevator just in time to see someone’s wand lowering towards the place where Arthur had been. Cornelius’ office was still empty when Percy threw powder into the fireplace. “Riddle House.” He whispered softly and climbed through with Nagini clutching at his neck tightly. 

When they arrived in the parlor Voldemort was waiting and Percy fell to his knees as Nagini released him.

“You were unsuccessful, I see,” The man gave a disapproving frown.

“You knew my father would be the one guarding it,” Percy whispered weakly. “You _knew_!” His voice rose in a pained shout as he looked up at the man. “Why?”

“I had to be sure of your loyalty, that those pesky little family ties won’t blind you to your true new Master,” The man held out his hand and Percy froze as he stared at long, pale fingers. “Give me your arm.”

Percy held out his left arm, shaking and terrified as he watched the man’s wand press to the flesh.

The pain that bloomed from the wandtip was agonizing and Percy’s head flew back as he bit through his tongue to keep from screaming. The burning coiled along his arm and Percy sobbed as he stared at the mark forming black and moving just beneath the skin like it had a life of its own. Once the mark settled Percy jerked his arm back and clutched it close to his chest, panting and staring up at the monster looming over him.

“Welcome to the inner circle, Percival,” Voldemort purred as he stroked his fingers through sweat-soaked and blood-spattered ginger curls. Percy pressed his forehead to the stone floor of the parlor and choked back a sob. 

He could do this. He had to do this.

* * *

Percy had been a passable potions student as a child, but he was not nearly as skilled as Severus was. So when he asked his lover for several flasks of Polyjuice Potion the man had provided it with minimal questions. Severus even knew who it was for and had provided Percy with the potion, already bubbling a cheerful periwinkle, and told him it was his mother’s hair inside the potion. 

In the dead of night Percy quietly visited his father, making sure that Molly was never there when he did. He’d sit for hours through the darkness beside the man, staring at him in the sanitorium green of the walls, the sheets clean and white. He looked so small in his hospital gown and bandages, woken every hour to take a blood replenishment potion. 

It was Yuletide Eve when Voldemort called a meeting in Riddle House and Percy tucked away the vial of Polyjuice Potion in his pocket when the numerous Death Eaters came in through the fireplace he had just been about to step through. Percy sat at his place on the left side of Voldemort’s seat, and watched as Severus took his own seat on the right side. Severus looked tired, and Percy was sure that it was in no small part due to Dolores Umbridge’s coup within Hogwarts. 

“A merry Yule to you, my most loyal,” Voldemort cooed as he looked upon the gathered Death Eaters. He waved his hand and the water that Pettigrew had served in mismatched goblets and glasses turned into a deep red wine. “A toast, then!” Percy gathered his glass and stared at Severus, his face pale with worry as he schooled his expression to silence. Severus stared at him as well, and Percy wondered if the man took strength from the sight of his lover the same way Percy did. “ _Grand_ tidings upon you and your houses this coming year, and for many more.”

“Grand tidings,” the table echoed softly as they looked at their master, some worried at the sudden summons, others eager. 

“And now my gift to one of you,” The dark lord stood and Percy glanced up as his hand wrapped around Percy’s shoulder briefly, then released him as he strode along the length of the table. “I find myself tiring of these simple, dilapidated surroundings. My _father’s_ home is hardly fitting for one like myself.” He moved along the table slowly. “I require more than this place could give. I require surroundings that are equivalent to my status.”

“My lord,” Severus spoke up. “This is a much safer location than anywhere else we could possibly provide for you. I beg of you, remain here for just a short while longer-”

“Your concern is touching, Severus,” Voldemort smiled as he rounded the end of the table and walked towards the man. “But I am more than capable with my power to secure any surroundings I place myself within.”

It made sense and Percy had to keep his thoughts calm, had to stifle his laughter. Of course Tom Riddle, who came from nothing and never had any true sense of wealth or power, who had always been a criminal on the run, had a taste for fine things. Of course he _needed_ silk sheets and fancy crown moulding, he _needed_ terraces and gated driveways, he _needed_ servants keeping his towels folded. His vanity would not allow for him to live in squalor for any significant amount of time, and his safety was an acceptable sacrifice for those conveniences and status symbols. 

“Malfoy Manor would be a suitable home,” Percy whispered as he stared at Severus across the table from him, his green eyes sliding away from the man’s to gaze at Voldemort. “Surely the Malfoys would be more than willing to accommodate you… My Lord?”

“An excellent idea, Percival,” The man turned to Lucius, stroking his fingers through the man’s long, platinum hair. Lucius’ eyelids fluttered for a brief moment before he cleared his throat.

“As regal as my home is, I feel that it pales in comparison to what you deserve, my lord,” The man simpered, and Percy could see Voldemort’s inhuman lips curl into a smirk. 

“Nonsense, Lucius,” Voldemort stepped aside and stood beside Severus, then sat in his own chair at the head of the table. “Percival, Peter, and I will relocate immediately.”

“If it is all the same to you, my lord,” Percy glanced at Voldemort, then Lucius, then back to the dark lord. “I would prefer to remain here.”

“And why is that, Percival? Surely Lucius has not mistreated you?”

Percival knew this was a chance to have the man killed, to say something damning about the man, but instead he shook his head and said simply. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I do not think that Narcissa Malfoy would appreciate me in her home.”

The Death Eaters at the table snickered and Voldemort let out a cackle of glee at this revelation. “Delightful, delightful, well then, Percival, you will remain here for now, but fret not, when the others have arrived you will return to your rightful place by my side.” The dark lord reached out and grasped Percy’s chin firmly. “I will handle Narcissa Malfoy and her intolerance of you.”

Percy doubted that Narcissa would become any more fond of him at the prodding of her husband’s master, but it at least this gave him some time.

* * *

The flames burned green, and then Percy was alone in Riddle House. He had one hour while Voldemort and the others went to rescue their comrades from Azkaban, however they intended to do that. 

Severus would be in the floo in precisely fifty-five minutes, right before the flood of Death Eaters and their master was set to return. In a snap Percy had apparated to just outside the small, dilapidated House of Gaunt. The door swung open and Percy hesitated before he waved his wand and began to tear the entire building apart. Piles of rotten belongings were tossed through, his hands ripped at boards covering the walls, grateful that there was no muggle electrics running through the building. He tossed every single room of the house before he started in on the floorboards. 

“Fuck!” He hissed, stumbling back when he saw a writhing sea of snakes beneath the bed, all of them hissing and coiling as they turned their glassy, beady eyes up to him. Among the hundreds of writhing reptiles he could see something golden and gleaming, something that did not belong. 

The odds of the snakes being venomous was increasingly likely the more Percy looked at them and he was not foolish enough to merely reach into a pit of unknown snakes to retrieve the box. Not to mention the potential for them to be cursed atop their natural lethality. His time was running out, though, and Percy was running out of options.

“ _Accio Horcrux_!” He hissed, frowning when the box didn’t move. Could it just not be a horcrux? Just a piece of small treasure that a young Tom Riddle had buried? Percy frowned and took a deep breath and whispered, “ _Incendio Serpenvectem_.”

He didn’t expect the spell to work. At best he expected the entire house to catch flame and incinerate himself along with whatever was buried beneath the house and well of snakes. Instead the smell of cooking flesh turning to ash filled his lungs and Percy covered his mouth with his sleeve as he watched in silent horror as the snakes writhed and hissed and let out very human screams as they were set aflame. 

Percy cursed as he stared at the flames that refused to die down, continuing to consume the writhing mass of cold-blooded flesh. Percy flexed his left arm, stared at his sleeve where the dark mark rested beneath the fabric and after a moment shucked his sweater. He vanished the lovingly hand-knitted sweater into his trunk back at Riddle House and then turned, rolling his thin white shirt sleeve up.

“Okay, okay, fuck…” He took a deep breath, stared at the golden case, and reached into the flames. 

The moment his hand closed around the box he apparated himself back to the parlor of Riddle House. He threw floo powder into the fireplace and wheezed out, “Severus Snape’s office.” When the green flames sprung to life, Severus’ voice called out to him.

“Percy? Percy, are you alright?”

“Take it,” Percy sobbed, shoving his hand through the flames. He could feel nerves and bone exposed to the air, could feel his flesh sealed and melted into the metal. “Just rip it out, please.”

Severus did as he was told. “I’m coming through.” He said in a stern tone that Percy had learned meant he was worried. In less than a minute the man had, in fact, come through the floo, several potion bottles in hand. “Drink this.” The man barked and Percy didn’t even ask what the potion was, downing the contents of the first vial in short order. 

Potion-stained fingers checked Percy’s hand, casting a few silent healing spells before he fed Percy another potion, then another. Severus wasn’t a skilled healer, he was passable, and with each spell cast he carefully flexed and manipulated Percy’s fingers and wrist to make sure he had properly healed everything. When he turned Percy’s arm over and saw the Dark Mark emblazoned in the young man’s forearm Severus’ eyes snapped up to Percy’s face, a question in that dark gaze. Percy looked away in shame and Severus’ watched the flesh heal slowly, knitting itself back together.

“You should go back,” He whispered softly. “They’ll be back soon.”

“You’re in no state to be left alone,” Severus tried to argue, but Percy kissed his protests away.

“Go. I can handle them.” The words tasted a lie, but he had to believe them regardless.

Severus gave Percy a deep, pleading kiss before Percy pushed him away. “Severus Snape’s office,” Percy whispered as he threw floo powder from the large pot next to the grate into the fire. Severus stood and stepped through, the flames burning green, then turning back to their cheerful red. Percy stood, stumbling as he made his way through the house towards his room. He would need to retrieve his jumper and change his shirt, destroy this one with the burnt sleeve. 

He was in the process of replacing his glasses in his room when he heard a creak of floorboards behind him. Turning sharply revealed the form of Voldemort standing, looming and horrible, in the doorway. Percy scoffed and waved his wand at the specter of the man. 

“I have no patience today, Lamont,” He snarled. “ _Riddikulus_!”

The spell did nothing, and Percy froze as the figure before him smiled broadly. “ _Expelliarmus_.” Percy’s wand flew across the room and in an instant Voldemort himself pressed Percy against a graffitied wall, one hand pinned against his neck. “You must truly fear me if you can’t see the difference.” The monstrous mouth purred and Percy felt tears burn in his eyes as his windpipe was blocked further. “I appreciate your bluntness.” One thin finger from another hand wiped at the dampness on his cheeks and Percy tried to wheeze for breath. “Raise a hand to me again, and I will deliver the body of one of your family members to this room myself.”

“Forgive me, my lord.” Percy choked, his hands scrabbling at the grip around his throat. “I didn’t know, please, I’m sorry.”

The iron grasp released him and Percy choked on air as he fell to the ground, his forehead pressed to the disgusting cigarette-marked floor. Voldemort pressed his foot underneat Percy’s chin, tilting his head up easily. “You truly are my most favourite pet, Percival. I would hate for that to change.”

* * *

Malfoy Manor was not any less terrifying than Riddle House, especially not when Voldemort was placed within, turning the grand family home into a base of operations for the most devout followers of the cause. 

People came and went at a regular pace throughout the day and Percy was grateful that his own occupation at the Ministry, keeping an eye on a still cowering and denying Fudge, kept him away from the Manor for hours on a time. He had not been so bold as to try and get his own apartment, and remaining at Riddle House had become a non-possibility with dozens of Voldemort’s less esteemed followers roaming it. One close encounter with a rather lascivious Greyback had been enough to send Percy racing through the floo into Malfoy Manor. 

Days off were torturous. Percy had stopped being able to sleep properly at night well into his time at Riddle House, now sleep was nigh impossible and Percy had learned to brew the perfect Pepperup and Wideye in his time at Malfoy Manor. The one thing that Percy found he enjoyed about his new location was the library. He’d sit with a mug of his doctored tea or coffee and peruse the shelves until he found something that caught his eye. There were many old tomes that had clearly not been touched in years, grimoires of old magics, historical texts, even diaries of Malfoy ancestors long dead. 

It was in one of those old diaries, Lyra Malfoy (née Clarke) wrote about a Lover’s Eye. She included diagrams, and a sketch of her own small charm bearing her unnamed lover’s eye. Percy thought of his mother’s clock in The Burrow and how similar the spells must have been, how old of magic these spells were. 

He thought of Severus’ dark eyes and immediately pulled out his muggle fountain pen and began to copy the spells painstakingly, making his own notes of old charms homework he could read up on in order to accomplish his goal. 

“Mister Weasley,” Lucius’ voice called and Percy tried not to sigh as he flicked his diary closed and replaced Lyra’s on the shelf he had pulled it from.

“Yes, Lucius?” Percy looked over at the man, who raised a brow at him and gestured towards the door to the library. 

“Might I escort you to bed?”

“I’m not tired,” Percy turned to look at the shelf, running his fingers over old, hand-bound spines. 

“Narcissa has gone to visit with her sister,” Lucius said simply as he stared at Percy.

“The same way you would go out to have work lunches with me?” Percy scoffed and smirked as he pulled a grimoire from the shelf. “Your master is living here now, why do you need me?”

“I do not want him,” Lucius tried to sound convincing, and Percy turned, pressing the grimoire to the man’s hand to put some distance between the two of them. 

“I think it’s more that he does not want you, that he lied to you that he was even capable of loving you,” Percy slid out from where the man had cornered him. “And people call me an idiot.”

Lucius’ fingers grasped Percy’s chin, turning his head this way and that, and Percy allowed it, only because the man could not escape the unimpressed stare of green eyes. “He really was quite beautiful back then.” Percy felt a pale thumb press to his lower lip and he refused to let his mouth be opened. “You look so much like him… When I saw you with the diary at Flourish and Blotts… And then you were in Twilfitt and Tattings… I knew that you were the better choice.”

Percy tilted his head to pull his chin away. “If you want to fuck me while thinking of someone else then you can at least do me the decency of calling out their name.”

Lucius’ palm cupped Percy’s jaw, drawing him close, their noses barely touching. “I was hoping that when Lord Voldemort leaves this house that you would stay behind.” Percy felt his heart clench at that thought. 

“Oh?”

“You could keep your rooms.”

“And be the other woman?” Percy mocked with a sneer. “Hardly.”

Lucius’ hand slid over Percy’s waist, his stomach. “Let me convince you?” The man whispered, and Percy tilted his head away. 

“Don’t expect me to call out your name when you’re not calling out mine,” Percy said as Lucius’ lips pressed to his throat. 

“If I tell yours, you can tell mine,” Lucius murmured, pressing Percy against the bookshelves. 

For the first time in this entire awful affair, Percy felt more free, breathing easily as he was led through the Manor to Lucius’ rooms. He felt guilty, laying on a bed that smelled of Narcissa’s perfume, but he ignored the feeling and scent as he closed his eyes.

Lucius was broader than Severus, his shoulders stronger and wider, his waist thicker, but where Severus was nothing but lean muscle, Lucius had a softness to him. His hair was longer, finer, and smelled different than Severus’. Even the shape of the man’s length was different than Severus and Percy hated it. With his eyes closed, though, he could let his imagination run rampant, shuddering as he thought of Severus’ thin lips against his stomach, his neck, his thighs. Lucius’ mouth on his own length was easy enough to turn into Severus’ with his eyes closed and Percy moaned, high and breathless as he tangled his fingers in silken hair and imagined that it smelled of potion ingredients. 

“Oh, fuck,” Percy moaned when he felt fingers carefully pressing into him, groaning when the man curled the digits to dig into sensitive nerves. “Fuck, Severus.” Percy moaned, his breaths coming less easily as he shuddered and wrapped his legs around Lucius’ shoulders. He thought of dark eyes staring up at him, of Severus’ smirk, of his low sonorous moans, and Percy had never so desperately wanted the man there instead of Lucius than when he finally allowed himself to speak Severus’ name. 

He spent the entire encounter in the throes of his own imagination that when Lucius’ voice growled out, “Tom” he was almost startled by it. An orgasm ripped through each of them, and in the afterglow Percy opened his eyes and felt disgust well up in him. 

“Get off me,” He barked, shoving the blond man away until Lucius was laying on his back, Percy standing to redress. 

“You need to sleep,” Lucius called out as Percy picked up his diary and made to leave the room. Lucius was grasping a silver cigarette case, lighting one of the clove cigarette with a fingertip as he placed it between his lips.

“I need to come to my senses is what I need,” Percy said as he placed his glasses back on his face and ran a hand through his hair. He walked back to Lucius and snatched one of the cigarettes, using the burning end of the other man’s cigarette to light his own. “That or a killing curse point blank.” There was something to be said about the habit and Percy let out a shuddering sight of clove-flavored smoke.

“Is it really so bad sleeping with me?” Lucius asked, his lips pulled into a frown that bordered on a pout. 

Percy faced the bed and the man laid out within, blowing a fresh drag of smoke above their heads. “You are proficient in what you do,” He explained as he glared at the man, tapping ash onto the crystal ash tray on the side table. “But I think we both know that neither of us is really here with the one we want.”

Sitting in the library once more, with Lucius Malfoy licking his emotional wounds, Percy transfigured a used quill nib into a locket and the feathers of the quill into a fine paintbrush. Laying the small golden locket down on the desk table. He carefully dragged the brush over the inside of the locket and whispered the incantations that Lyra had written. 

“ _Ostende oculus meus videt me, et oculos eorum replicabunt rursus amans._ ” Severus’ eye began to appear, a faint outline, and Percy dragged the brush over once more. “ _Ostende oculus meus videt me, et oculos eorum replicabunt rursus amans._ ” The eye gained more detail and Percy smiled as he whispered the incantation once more. “ _Ostende oculus meus videt me, et oculos eorum replicabunt rursus amans._ ”

The eye looked like Severus’, but there was no movement, nothing to indicate that there was magic imbued in the item. Percy frowned and moved to the shelves, retrieving Lyra’s diary. He might not have copied the last of the spell. 

_Blood from the eye of the lover, freely given, will seal the spell within the Lover’s Eye, allowing the beholder to see the emotions of their lover._

Percy traced his finger over the page before he sighed and closed it. He could never ask that of Severus, that pain… It was not something that Percy could knowingly inflict upon his lover. 

Sliding the book back into place, Percy traced his fingers over the spine before he stepped back and returned to his own diary. He fastened the Lover’s Eye to his jumper and smoothed his fingers over it briefly before he cleaned up the desk he had commandeered in the library. He thought of Severus and how much he wished that he was walking along the silent hallways to sleep beside the man.

* * *

“The boy believes the vision,” Severus’ voice called through the floo and Percy felt his heart clench as he saw the man’s disembodied head floating in the green flames. “The time to move is now.”

“Excellent, Severus,” Voldemort purred, smirking as he drummed the fingers of one hand upon the elegant mantle of the Malfoy floo. He turned to his followers present, his eyes lingering on Lucius Malfoy. “Go and retrieve the prophecy, Malfoy.”

“I will not fail you, my lord,” Lucius bowed his head and Percy looked up at the dark lord looming over all of them. 

Percy glanced up as Voldemort’s hand rested upon the back of his neck. “I know you won’t, because Percival will be accompanying you.”

“My lord?” Percy asked weakly.

“My lord, I feel that this will lead to disaster,” Severus cut through Percy’s own voice. “Mister Weasley is hardly a master duelist, he would be a hinderance to the mission.”

“On the contrary,” Voldemort grasped Percy’s chin gently. “He will be the one to ensure that things do not turn violent. A hostage.”

Within the hour Percy was being hauled through the elevator as it opened into the main entrance of the Department of Mysteries. His book bag was clutched at his side and he was certain he must look ridiculous next to the Death Eaters and their robes and masks, a hapless bureaucrat that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lucius’ tight grip on his hair made Percy hiss and yelp as he was all but thrown into the Hall of Prophecy. 

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know!” Percy snarled. That at least was the truth. His last attempt to retrieve the prophecy had been stopped by his father’s attack and he had never found the location of Harry Potter’s prophecy. He stumbled as Lucius grasped his shirt collar and pushed him down the aisle until the lights of several wands illuminated the area. 

“Percy,” Ginny’s voice called out and Percy’s eyes, wide with real terror, stared at his youngest siblings as they stood, surrounded by their friends and then a greater circle of Death Eaters. 

“Ginny, Ron, you aren’t supposed to be here,” Percy whispered, trying to step forward only for Lucius’ wand to press to the underside of Percy’s chin, threatening and hard enough that it would bruise the tender skin. 

“Where’s Sirius,” Harry Potter barked at Lucius, and Percy squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to avoid looking at his siblings lest he give something away. 

“You really ought to learn how to tell dreams from reality, Harry,” The man released Percy and shoved him to the side, Percy stumbling into the grip of the two Lestranges. “Now. Give me the prophecy, or we start using wands."

The young man gripped the prophecy tighter in his hand and Percy worried that it might shatter in his white-knuckled grip. “Go on, then.”

That made Lucius grind his teeth audibly. “Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt.” Percy felt Bellatrix’s wand at the back of his skull, trying frantically to think of what he could do to escape this situation alive, with his siblings alive as well. 

“Yeah, right! I give you this — prophecy, is it?” Harry rolled the glass ball between his fingers and looked up at Lucius challengingly. “And you’ll just let us skip off home, will you?”

Percy slid his wand down his sleeve, along his thigh, grateful that his two supposed captors seemed well and truly distracted. 

“Hand it over, Harry,” Lucius took a step forward and Percy took a deep breath before he elbowed Rodolphus in his gut and slapped his hand hard across Bellatrix’s face. 

“Run!” He shouted to the teenagers before he cast a stunning spell at Lucius’ back. The teenagers scattered and Percy made his own break for it. He grabbed Ron’s wrist and dragged his youngest brother through the aisles. “You’re a fucking idiot, Ron, and I cannot believe you let yourself get dragged into all of this-”

“You’re one to talk!” Ron sent a hex down the aisle at Dolohov, the two of them veering into another direction to try and regroup with the other teenagers. “What the hell are you doing down here - look out!” Ron shoved Percy down and threw a stunning spell at Rookwood. 

“Less talking, more running!” Percy ordered, grabbing at his brother’s sleeve to haul him along. They regrouped with Harry and Hermione, who were looking at Percy with suspicion, but this was clearly not the time for interrogating him and they knew it. 

The Department of Mysteries was a maze and as they blasted through the Mind and Time rooms Percy felt as if his entire mind was filling with boiling water, blinding him and turning his thoughts into hazy, distant things. 

“Wait, no!” Percy tried to grab Ginny as she threw open the door to a room labeled Death, only for the entire group to leap through blindly. “Fuck!” Taking a step back, Percy threw himself into the room as well, trying to keep his legs from stiffening so that they wouldn’t shatter on impact with the ground. He was stopped inches from the ground and managed to adjust so that he landed evenly on the rocky terrain of the Death room.

There was an enormous stone archway with a filmy veil floating over it. Percy could hear voices, indistinct but there nonetheless. 

“We have to get out of here,” Percy whispered as he reached out for Ginny’s hand. “Gin, come on, we have to go.”

“I can hear voices,” Harry whispered, stepping towards the veil. 

“No, Harry, don’t go any closer!” Percy held out his hand to try and stop Harry even as a blonde, wispy girl stepped forward beside him. 

“I hear them too,” She whispered and Percy lost his patience.

“Listen to me!” He shouted, desperate as his arm started to burn. Voldemort was nearby, he had been called by the others. “We have to leave!” The teenagers turned to face him and Percy held out his hand to Harry again. “Give me the prophecy, Harry.”

“Why?”

“If I give it to them they’ll let you go,” Percy kept his arm outstretched. “I swear they will.”

“How do you know that?” Harry demanded, his fingers clenched around the ball. 

“Because I’ll give them me,” Percy’s hand shook. “Please, Harry, if you give it to me I will make sure that you all make it out of here alive.” Harry stared at Percy, his green eyes fixed on Percy’s own and Percy knew he looked exhausted, he looked like he hadn’t properly slept in months, but Harry didn’t look much better. “You have to trust me, Harry, for once in your life.”

Percy felt the smooth glass slid into his hand and stepped back, holding it to his chest. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his siblings when Lucius’ fingers wrapped around his shoulders. “Excellent, Mister Weasley.” The man crooned and Percy let out a shuddering breath as he passed the prophecy to Lucius. 

“We got what we came here for,” Percy said simply. “We can go now.”

“And let these children tell the Ministry what happened here today?” Lucius smirked and in a moment the others were in the room, grabbing at the teenagers.

“No!” Percy shouted, turning to face Lucius, his wand aimed at Lucius. “We got the prophecy, that was all we needed.” His hand shook as he stared at the man. “Please, just go.”

“Think of how the Dark Lord might praise me when I bring him Harry Potter himself along with the prophecy?”

“It was you,” Harry whispered and Percy looked over his shoulder at the boy. “In my dream, when I saw Mister Weasley being attacked.” Percy turned, his wand held in his hand but pointed at the floor. “You were the one with the snake.”

Ron and Ginny looked at him and Percy couldn’t meet their eyes. “Yes.” He whispered softly, aiming his wand at The Boy Who Lived. “And I’m sorry, I had no choice.” He waved the wand and shouted. “ _Incarcerous_!”

Before the spell could make impact a stunning spell struck Percy in the side, sending him sprawling on the rocky ground. He turned and saw Remus Lupin aiming his wand at Rookwood followed by the forms of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, and even Sirius Black. Percy felt relief flood his chest as he realized that the Order had managed to arrive just in time, Severus hadn’t been too late. He looked around frantically as an all out battle broke out, curses and spells and hexes being thrown across the enormous room. He wouldn’t be able to do much, but he could help his brother. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed Ron’s arm.

“Ron!” He shouted over the din of spellfire. “Take my bag!” He ordered.

“What?” Ron stared at him in confusion, his wand drawn as if he was seconds away from hexing his brother. His hand shook as he hesitated and Percy shouted. 

“Hex me and take my bag, do it now!”

“ _Exterruit_!” Ron shouted and Percy fell backwards, dizzied by the spell and squinting against bright flashes of light dancing across his vision. When he managed to blink away the searing lights his bag was gone and Ron and the others were trying to escape the room. 

He would have to suffer the loss of his vanishing scroll case, but Ron and the others could use the Secrets of the Darkest Arts book. They were smart, they could figure it out.

When members of the Ministry arrived, Percy slipped away through the floo, shaking and panting as he arrived in Umbridge’s office at Hogwarts. He must have made quite the sight, stumbling through the hallways, but he thankfully made it to Severus’ dungeon quarters, knocking on the door weakly. 

“Percy,” The man hissed, drawing his young lover into his rooms. “Why are you here?”

“I just… I needed to rest,” Percy pressed his head to Severus’ shoulder. “I need to sleep.” He could feel himself fading as he wrapped his arms around Severus’ waist, feeling the man hold him firmly in place. “I’m so tired, Severus.”

“Sleep.” The man ordered, kissing at Percy’s forehead, frowning at the younger man’s cracked glasses. “I’ll keep watch over you.”

He’d be punished. Both by the Ministry and by Voldemort, but he could face that later. For now, laying on Severus’ bed, his limbs tangled with the other man’s, he slept deeply and well for the first time in nearly a year.


	6. Zugzwang: (n.) a situation where every possible move or decision is a bad one, or one that will result in damage or loss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and The Vanishing Cabinet

The view from Severus’ sitting room in Spinner’s End looked down on the dirty river that snaked through Cokeworth. Percy didn’t much care for the view, not when he could walk his fingers along the spines of books lining shelves that covered every inch of wallspace in the room. Severus was seated in the single chair of the sitting room, a copy of the Daily Prophet in hand that he seemed to be attempting to read, despite his eyes following Percy around the room. 

“And how did you convince the Dark Lord that this was a good idea?” Severus asked softly, mindful of Pettigrew skulking around the house, part guard, part servant, but entirely spy for Voldemort. A spy spying on two spies, Percy nearly laughed at the thought. 

“The Ministry is going through an overhaul. Scrimgeour is even more wary of the people in Fudge’s offices and if he decides to show up at my place of residence which do you think would be better?” Percy sat down on Severus’ lap, crumpling the newspaper between them. “The home of a recently arrested Death Eater or some small nowhere apartment that I share with my much older lover?”

“You know this is likely only temporary,” Severus said softly as he stroked his palm up the younger man’s spine. “He won’t want you away for too long.”

“I know,” Percy cupped Severus’ jaw, pulling the man’s head closer for a long, slow kiss. “But for now I will take what fleeting time I have with you.” Severus’ eyes searched his own and Percy grazed his knuckles over the man’s jaw. The man looked worried and Percy kissed his lips softly to try and soothe the look off of his face. “I don’t need to be a Legilimens to hear your thoughts rattling around in there.”

“Dumbledore told me something… While we were destroying the ring.” Severus stroked his fingers over Percy’s curls, drawing him close. “He doesn’t expect Harry Potter to survive the Dark Lord.”

Percy frowned. “Then why fight so hard for him? Why lift him up as the Chosen One?”

Severus shook his head and gave a humorless laugh. “A Ressurectionist nightmare, a sacrificial lamb meant to pay for the sins of the world.” They sat together in silence before Percy rested his forehead against Severus’ silently, the two of them breathing in one another’s breath. “Raised like a fucking pig for slaughter.”

Percy let out a shuddering breath and drew his arms closer around Severus. “He’s a Horcrux… Isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Severus didn’t bother denying it, didn’t bother trying to protect Percy when the young man was already up to his ears in danger. “And the Dark Lord is trying to replicate that with you.”

“I know,” Percy took a soft breath and looked up at Severus. He couldn’t tell the man about the poison he had brewed, kept in a newly enchanted book bag. He couldn’t tell Severus that he himself didn’t plan to survive the end of the War. “Put it out of your mind.” He whispered, kissing Severus and drawing the man closer. “I’m here, stay here with me.” Thin fingers cupped his jaw and Percy tilted his head into the touch, allowing himself to breathe out a happy sigh. Severus worried at Percy’s lower lip, drawing him closer, their bodies practically melting together as Severus’ cloak was wrapped around Percy’s body. 

There was a sharp knock on the front door and they broke apart, Percy sighing as he straightened and pulled back, adjusting his jumper and shirt collar as Pettigrew poked his mangy head into the room. “Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, here to see the Professor.” Percy scowled at the two names, reaching into his pocket to pull out Lucius’ silver cigarette case, placing one of the carefully rolled bundles of cloves and tobacco between his lips before he lit it with a tap of his wand.

“Thank you, Wormtail,” Severus sneered as he waved his wand, slamming the door behind the two women that quickly walked into the sitting room. “Drinks?” He asked, raising a brow at Narcissa’s shaking hands. 

Percy waved his wand and summoned a bottle of Severus’ good firewhiskey, pouring drinks for all four of them, ignoring the sound of Wormtail’s footsteps creaking outside the door. “Narcissa, a pleasure as always.” He passed her one of the mismatched glasses and she accepted it with a stiff nod. Her husband’s arrest had put a strain on them, especially with Percy’s own hearing throwing the man under the Knightbus. The smell of her husband’s cigarettes likely set her on edge as well as she glared at the coil of smoke rising from Percy’s parted lips.

“Percival, I’d like to speak to Severus alone,” Narcissa tried to dismiss the younger man as diplomatically as she could. 

“If this is about Draco I already know,” Percy sipped at his own drink, leaning against the edge of the mantle just behind Severus’ chair. “It’s the hottest gossip among the others, so of course I’d be told almost immediately.”

“Who told _you_?” Bellatrix sneered, and Percy tilted his eyes to her, running his thumb along the edge of the glass cradled in his hands. She looked just as mad and vicious as she had in the Department of Mysteries or in Riddle House, her eyes wide and round, the whites of them shot through with red veins from one too many curses over the years.

Percy blew a cloud of smoke towards the woman who stood on the other side of the mantle, “Does it matter? I know.”

“Then you both know that this… He can’t,” Narcissa stared at Severus, her eyes never leaving his as she spoke. “It’s a suicide mission. He’d be killed before he could even begin to succeed.”

“I am not unsympathetic to your plight, Narcissa,” Severus cupped his own glass of firewhiskey between his hands.

“All talk no real dedication to the cause,” Bellatrix scoffed, and Percy straightened, glaring at her as he watched her fiddle with one of Severus’ muggle knick-knacks upon the mantle place. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to not touch things that don’t belong to you?” Percy snapped, glaring at the woman. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and placed the knick knack carelessly down, Percy reaching up to move it back to its spot. 

“I didn’t know that the Dark Lord let his pet _weasel_ backtalk his betters and superiors,” Bellatrix scoffed as she glared at Percy. 

“Less a weasel, more of a mongoose,” Severus mused as he looked over his shoulder at Percy, giving him a warning look. “Narcissa, in regards to Draco… I cannot dissuade the Dark Lord, but I can assist Draco in accomplishing his mission.”

“It’s just words, Sissy,” Bellatrix continued as she moved to stare up at Severus, smirking at the taller man. “He’ll give it his best shot, but then, when it really matters, it’s just empty promises.”

Severus glared down at Bellatrix. “Mind your tongue.” He whispered.

“Make an unbreakable vow,” The woman hissed, egging Severus on, and Percy stiffened, staring at his lover with wide eyes.

“How dare you doubt Severus’ word,” Percy straightened to his full height, only a few inches taller than Bellatrix, but tall enough to look down his nose at her.

“Bellatrix,” Severus snapped as he glared at the other Death Eater and Percy wondered if he was about to hex the woman. “Take out your wand.”

“Severus-” Percy bit his tongue at the man’s look. There was no convincing him out of this and Percy could only sit down shakily, watching as Severus and Narcissa grasped one another’s arms while Bellatrix began the spell. 

“Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfil the Dark Lord's wishes?” Narcissa asked as she watched the man’s eyes, ignoring Percy as the younger man covered his own mouth to keep from interrupting the spell. 

Severus didn’t look away from the woman before him. “I will.”

Narcissa gripped Severus’ arm tighter, her nails digging into the fine embroidered wool of the sleeve. “And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?”

“I will.”

Another long pause and then Narcissa whispered, “And should it prove necessary... if it seems Draco will fail... will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?”

Severus didn’t hesitate as he spoke, “I will.”

The golden strands of magic glowed, then vanished and Percy stared at the two, his heart pounding, as Bellatrix cackled in delight and Narcissa let out a shuddering whisper of thanks towards the man. Percy stood and walked over to Severus, wrapping an arm tightly around his lover’s arm, lacing their fingers together. He looked up at the man and let out a soft, unsteady breath and whispered, “I will help.”

* * *

Standing in the office of the Minister of Magic, Percy took in the differences of the decor. Where Cornelius Fudge had photographs of his family, of various celebrities he had rubbed elbows with, particularly glowing articles written about him, Rufus Scrimgeour had placed nothing more personal than his Order of Merlin and other awards for meritorious service in the name of Wizarding Britain. The man looked like a great pacing lion as he stood in front of his desk, Percy standing between the two guest chairs that were placed in front of the desk. He had refused a seat when the man had finally called him in from where Percy had been waiting, speaking with the trolley witch who had given him a cauldron cake free of charge like she always did ever since he 

“Your peers in the Ministry insist that you had no idea about Lucius Malfoy and his plans and leanings,” Scrimgeour leaned against the edge of the desk, finally staring at the younger man. “So which is it? Shrewdness or stupidity?”

Percy tilted his head as he looked at Scrimgeour. “Which do you think it is, Minister Scrimgeour?”

The man folded his arms and there was a silent battle of wills between the two of them. “I think you’re a smart boy. You’d have to be to get the work you’ve been assigned by everyone. Scribe for the Wizengamot, you penned a report on the thickness of cauldron bottoms for importation during your time International Magical Cooperation, you even sat down with the Transylvanian ambassador and from what I heard held your own quite well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Percy bowed his head briefly. 

“Lucius Malfoy was a lot of things, but he bankrolled Fudge’s version of the Ministry and everyone knew that. I hear from a few different sources that you cut off contact with your family after your hearing over the death of Bartemius Crouch Senior.”

“Which I was acquitted for,” Percy reminded the man.

“Yes, yes, your inability to resist an Imperius Curse at all… Fascinating case, I was surprised that you were not checked into St. Mungo’s for further research as to why you reacted so strongly.” Scrimgeour’s eyes were stern and strong as they held Percy’s gaze. “You’re a bad luck charm, it would seem. What might happen to me if I kept you here in your current position?”

“What might happen to you if you don’t?” Percy asked again. “Lucius Malfoy had many friends in the Ministry. I am quite certain that I was not alone in my affair with him.” Percy moved to sit in one of the chairs he had stood beside. He crossed his legs and folded his hands over his knee. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out the silver cigarette case emblazoned with the Malfoy coat of arms. “You see, I was introduced to a lot of Lucius’ friends, and I feel that that makes me quite the desirable snitch, don’t you?” 

Scrimgeour’s eyes fixed on Percy and he arched one bushy brow as the cigarette between the younger man’s lips was lit. “You’re a shrewd little thing, aren’t you?”

Percy gave a small smirk as he blew out a thin coil of smoke. “I was mentored by the finest minds in the game, and I assure you, their sole commonality was their persistence. I like to think I took that to heart.”

“I could have you sent to Azkaban,” Scrimgeour said simply. “How does _that_ taste?”

“For what?” Percy raised a brow. “I was not present when Lucius Malfoy made his bid for the Hall of Prophecy. I am not a proven conspirator, and I was vouched for by several people of considerable standing, including Albus Dumbledore himself.” He wasn’t sure what Severus had said to Dumbledore to encourage that, or if it was Minerva who had said that Percival Weasley could never have been involved with this nightmare. “You cannot imprison someone for an affair with a married man, so I have done nothing to provoke any legal action against my person, merely my reputation.” 

Scrimgeour stared at Percy and leaned back in his seat. “What house were you in at Hogwarts?”

“Gryffindor,” Percy said simply, brushing imaginary dust off of his deep green robes before he stubbed out his cigarette in Scrimgeour’s own ash tray, dropping the filter of it next to the half-smoked cigar resting in the ash tray. 

The new Minister raised a brow. “Would have thought Slytherin.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Percy stood. “Now, if you need a moment to think about my continued employment by the Ministry-”

“No, no, as you said,” Scrimgeour smirked down at Percy and he couldn’t help but feel like he had to watch his steps more carefully with the man than he ever had with Fudge. “You make a very desirable snitch.”

* * *

Percy scowled at the enormous edifice of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, his eyes following the great mechanical arm of the smiling triplet that the twins had constructed, watching as it lowered a tophat onto a moving rabbit on the head of the statue, vanishing the rabbit into the hat, and then placing it back down onto the head at the next movement. 

“Feeling sentimental, Weasley?” Draco’s voice hissed and Percy turned to face the young Slytherin. 

“I thought we had agreed on discretion, Draco?” Percy turned more fully, glancing at Narcissa and what she must have considered a more low key outfit, dressed all in sleek silver robes. Percy himself was dressed in simple brown tweed with a notice-me-not spell cast over the small doorway of the shut down Flourish and Blotts he had agreed to meet the remaining Malfoys. “You two practically scream “follow me”.”

“Well that should be easy for you then, Weasley,” Draco sniffed, glaring at Percy as the ginger dropped the half-smoked clove cigarette on the cobblestones, stubbing it out. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

“Oh goody,” Percy sighed, gesturing for Draco and Narcissa to lead the way. He had the feeling that he was being followed, but whenever he glanced over his shoulder he didn’t see anyone. He thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar jumper, but when he turned back to face Draco and Narcissa standing, waiting for him at the entrance of Borgin and Burkes, he felt his heart sink and forgot all about being followed. 

“You,” Borgin’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Percy tilted his head politely at the shopkeeper. There were others inside. Bellatrix and Greyback stood beside one of the shop windows, murmuring and sneering between one another while the Carrow twins lounged on a chaise, their legs tangled together as they watched Percy curiously. “Treacherous little vermin.”

“Mister Borgin, it’s been how long? Three years?” He held out his hand to the man in a peace offering, only for Borgin to bare his teeth in a rather vicious snarl.

“You stole a very valuable book from me,” Borgin growled, and Percy raised a brow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Percy folded his arms as he stared at the man before him. 

“Borgin, you still have it?” Draco cut in before an all out fight could start, drawing the attention of the others more fully. 

“Whatever it is,” Borgin grumbled. “Yeah, still here.”

“Well, that’s why we have Weasley here,” Draco gestured to Percy, who raised a brow at Draco curiously. 

“Come on, it’s in the back,” The man led the group back to the storage area of the shop, through a small courtyard into an addition of the shop. “Well, there it is.” Borgin gestured to the enormous, asymmetrical cabinet and Percy’s brows shot up instantly.

“How did you get this?” He asked, running his hand over the intricate runes and designs carved into the surface. 

“Ripped it out of an old abandoned house ‘bout a decade ago,” Borgin shrugged. “What’s it to you?”

“It’s a Vanishing Cabinet,” Percy explained, circling around the enormous cabinet, turning the great double-curved handles to open the door. “This was used back during the War, my family had one.” He could remember hiding in the cabinet with Charlie, each of them holding one of the twins as they vanished and waited for their parents to come retrieve them. “Quite appealing to the average witch and wizard.” Percy looked at Draco. “You hop into one of these, turn the handle once for ten minutes, twice for twenty, and so on, and then you close the door and vanish for however long you’d need when Death Eaters came knocking.” He glanced at the Carrows, Bellatrix, and Greyback. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Amycus grunted, even though he clearly had taken some form of offense. “So these things all look the same?”

“No, they were always made in pairs, so only two cabinets would look the same,” Percy checked the engravings on the back of the cabinet. “This one probably has a sister somewhere.”

“In Hogwarts,” Draco said as he looked at Percy. “It’s in the Room of Requirement.”

“The what?” Percy’s brows shot up at that. 

“The Come and Go Room,” Draco gestured vaguely. “It shows up when you need it. Behind the tapestry of the bloke teaching Trolls to dance.”

Percy remembered the tapestry well. “Charming.” He looked up at the cabinet. “This one has some damage, though, and if the sister is also broken… I wouldn’t recommend using it.”

“Only one way to test it out,” Draco said as he reached over and dragged a cloth off of a piece of furniture. Percy froze when he saw Hermes’ cage, the owl contained within. In all of the moving and relocating he had left Hermes at the Malfoy owlery. 

“What are you doing?” Percy asked, startled as Malfoy placed the owl, cage and all, in the cabinet. “No, Draco, wait-” He closed the door and turned the knob to lock it.

“No, now we wait, Weasley,” Draco glared at Percy. “I have a job to do and you’re going to help me.”

“Draco, I’ve never built one of these! The most experience I have with them is hiding in one as a child.” He gestured to the enormous cabinet. “I don’t know what damage it’s sustained, or even how to assess whether or not the charms are still intact.”

“Well, then you’d best figure it out quickly, Weasley, because I have a job to do.”

The knob of the cabinet clicked and the group froze as they all looked at the door. Percy couldn’t hear Hermes inside and after a quiet moment he reached out and grasped the handle and opened it. The inside was spattered with flesh and blood and bone and feathers, and the cage was now warped and twisted on the floor of the cabinet. Greyback let out a loud, barking laugh as Bellatrix cackled, Narcissa and Draco both taking a step back and covering their mouths and noses at the fine mist of blood within. 

Percy’s hand shook and he bit back a sob as he clutched at the handle, thinking of his mother smiling and purchasing Hermes for him as a reward for being made a Prefect all those years ago. 

“Fix it,” Draco said as he removed his hand from his face. “Or I’ll send you through it right now.”

* * *

“Mph,” Percy grunted as Severus drew him closer in the narrow bed in the man’s quarters at Hogwarts. “You need a bigger bed.” He murmured playfully, rocking his hips back against the older man. “So that we’re less squished together.”

“Something to be said for that,” Severus breathed out, pressing his nose to Percy’s temple as the younger man’s hand reached back to drag his nails over the line of Severus’ pale hip. “You can’t escape me like this.”

“When this is all over I’m going to buy a nice big bed and we can live on it,” Percy murmured. “A bed the size of a whole room. We can have the kitchen on one side, the bathroom on another.”

“What about a parlor, for entertaining guests?” Severus asked with a smirk clear in his voice. 

“Fuck guests, neither of us like people,” Percy stretched and turned in the circle of his lover’s arms. Their lips met in a warm kiss and Percy sighed happily as Severus’ nose pressed to his cheek, the wisping of the man’s breath tickling the curls just over his ear. 

“You’ll regret that when you have no one to keep you company but me,” Severus groused, his lips brushing over Percy’s jaw, his neck, then shoulder. 

“Mmm, when I get tired of you I can always slip some poison in your tea,” Percy hummed. 

“I’d drink it to make you happy,” Severus murmured, and Percy felt his heart flutter at that, his fingers sliding into the man’s dark hair.

“Noted.”

Long, pale fingers slid over Percy’s hips, guiding him to lay back on the narrow bed. It was rare even for Percy to see Severus naked and this was a quiet treat that Percy was grateful to be able to see the man so vulnerable in the quiet confines of his Hogwarts quarters. His pale skin was covered in scars and Percy stroked his fingers over the various lines, the starbursts of where spellfire made contact, vicious slashes where curses had arced across skin. 

“Which was the first?” Percy asked, his fingers following the coiling line of where a venomous tentacula had grasped his arm. 

“I don’t know,” Severus said as he looked down at Percy, supporting himself on his elbows as his lips brushed over the younger man’s forehead. “Does it matter?”

“I think this one is number one,” Percy whispered, pressing his hand to the scar on the man’s ribs where a close range stun had clearly been jammed into him. He wriggled for a moment and Severus watched in amusement as Percy placed a soft kiss to the dull scar tissue. “And this one is two.” He pressed his lips to a thin line that bisected Severus’ pectoral. “Three.” Another scar and Percy smiled at the shiver that his attentions elicited from the man. “Four.” He moved down Severus’ stomach, his hand sneaking down beneath the blankets as well to grasp the man’s length. 

“Severus!” The two of them nearly flew apart at the sound of Minerva McGonagall’s voice, Percy scrambling to hide under the blankets while Severus’ wand pointed towards the door. Instead of Minerva there was a glittering white cat barging through the door, speaking with the Transfiguration Professor’s voice. “Come to my classroom, this is a matter of life or death!”

Percy’s wide eyes looked at Severus as the man waved his wand and instead of hexing an intruder he dressed himself in a moment with magic. “Did he-”

“Impossible,” Severus hissed. “Draco does not have the stomach for murder.”

“I’ll come with you,” Percy started to get dressed as well, finding his wand amongst his pile of clothing. 

“No, your presence would be unexplainable, you wait here, I’ll send Draco here if he’s been caught, you take him to Riddle House.”

With that Severus was out the door, his cloak billowing about him like the wings of a great bat. Percy dressed himself, fastening his wand sheath about his arm before he started to pace restlessly, chewing his thumb nail and glancing at the door every few moments. He smoked no less than four cigarettes from the silver case, hesitating when he saw the last one tucked within before he snapped the case shut. If he was going to be killed for conspiracy for murder the least they could do was let him smoke a cigarette.

It was impossible. If Draco had succeeded in killing Dumbledore, then Severus would be dead… Or the first suspect for an accomplice. As the minutes ticked by to one hour, then two, Percy walked to the door numerous times, tempted to leave, to go find Severus, only to be stopped by his own lack of nerve. What would he even do if he found Severus to be in danger? He was not even a passable duelist, much to Severus’ disapproval, and the element of surprise wouldn’t even allow for him to do much more than get one or two spells in. 

When the door knob turned Percy straightened, wand in hand, only to slump in relief at the sight of his lover. “Severus, what happened?” He asked, throwing his arms around the man to hug him tightly. “I was so worried.”

“Draco made an attempt on Dumbledore,” Severus shook his head, holding a black velvet box in his hand. “He gave a Gryffindor girl, Kaitie Bell, this and Imperiused her to deliver it to Dumbledore.” He opened the box and Percy reeled back at the sight of the opal necklace. 

“That’s from Borgin and Burkes,” Percy said as Severus placed it on his personal desk. “How did he get it past Filch?”

“I didn’t let Filch search Draco’s bags too thoroughly,” Severus sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “A mistake, clearly, if he thought he could properly handle this artifact.”

“Is she okay?” Percy asked, looking up at Severus. “Kaitie?”

“She’ll live, she’s been sent to St. Mungo’s for treatment, but I managed to contain the curse for now,” Severus closed the velvet case and sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Draco’s attempts are going to become more desperate from here.”

“I can’t avoid repairing the vanishing cabinet forever,” Percy stroked his hands over Severus’ shoulders, pressing his cheek to the man’s temple. Severus’ hand rested on Percy’s for a brief moment before he pulled Percy’s arms tightly around him. “I’ll postpone it as long as I can, but it will have to happen soon.”

“I will try and keep Draco occupied. As long as he is in Hogwarts he is safe from Voldemort,” Severus tried to sound like he believed that, but Percy knew they both didn’t trust that.

“What will you do with the necklace?” Percy asked softly, staring at the box warily. 

“I can’t keep it here,” Severus sighed. “Can you… I wouldn’t ask normally, but I can’t trust students to not find it, even here in my private quarters.”

“You mean you don’t trust Harry Potter to come sneaking in here to look for evidence that you’re truly the epitome of all evil,” Percy kissed his lover’s temple. “I’ll take it to Riddle House, at least it will be well hidden there.”

Severus sighed and hung his head, cradling it in his hands as he stared down at the case. Percy pressed a kiss to his jaw, his arms wrapped around the man’s shoulders tightly. “Dumbledore is dying.”

Percy tightened his arms around Severus’ shoulders. “Then this will be a mercy and it will keep both you and Draco safe.” He wondered what that said about him that Dumbledore, who had never done anything against Percy personally, had become expendable in his mind. It was selfish, but Percy didn’t have much time left and he didn’t want to spend it without Severus.

* * *

“Get dressed,” Scrimgeour ordered, standing in the living room of Spinner’s End. Percy scowled at the man, holding one of Severus’ heavily annotated potion’s books open against his chest. 

“You can’t just come barging into my living room on my day off like that, what if I wasn’t decent?” Percy demanded, quietly grateful that Pettigrew was probably down at the Matchbox, getting himself finely plastered on muggle liquor and flirting with the toothless barmaid that worked there. 

“It’s Christmas Day,” Scrimgeour said simply as he folded his arms and stared down at his assistant.

“Yes, and I am entitled to a day off,” Percy glared at the man. 

“Harry Potter is visiting your family at The Burrow, correct?”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Percy shot back.

“You answer a question with a question when you’re nervous,” Scrimgeour pointed out and Percy resisted the urge to throw the book at the man’s head. 

“I am in my dressing gown and precious little else with my boss standing over me on my day off,” Percy snapped the book shut and stood. “Really, nothing to be nervous about.”

“Get dressed, we’re going to visit Harry Potter at The Burrow.”

“You could do that without me,” Percy obeyed nonetheless. Scrimgeour was less lenient and harder to manipulate than Fudge had been, while he had let slip little tidbits of Lucius’ dealings here and there to the man, he still had the distinct sensation of treading on very thin ice. One wrong move and he’d be plunged into icy depths with little hope of survival. He dressed and ran a few quick grooming spells over himself before he grabbed his bag and held out his hand to Scrimgeour. 

“I’m more than capable of apparating there on my own,” The Minister said briskly, and Percy resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes at the man.

“You won’t be allowed past the wards if you apparate on your own.” He explained patiently. “I’m still Weasley blood, they have to let me through.”

“Is your family really that paranoid?” Scrimgeour’s bushy brows rose in surprise.

“My father aided in the invention and implementation of the Vanishing Cabinet, Minister Scrimgeour,” Percy said simply. “They are courageous, but not foolish.”

The moment the man’s hand grasped his own, Percy pulled them through the burning wards that surrounded his family’s property. The apparition was painful, even for him, and he couldn’t apparate directly into The Burrow itself, but he managed to get them into the garden. 

“Percy?” His mother’s voice called from the house, moments after their arrival. She came rushing out along with half the family, Bill warily hesitating behind her as Fred and George glared at him openly. “My darling boy!” She dragged him into her arms, clinging to Percy’s shoulders as he wrapped his own arms stiffly around her. She smelled like cookies and warm stew and sweat and fresh earth and he missed her so much it made his heart ache. 

“Just business, Mum,” He whispered, pulling back before she could ask anything else. Her attention landed on Scrimgeour and her face flicked through several microexpressions before landing on polite curiosity. “Mum, this is Minister Rufus Scrimgeour. Minister Scrimgeour, this is my mother, Molly Weasley.”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about the entire Weasley clan,” Scrimgeour said as he shook Molly’s hand. “All of it good.”

“Unlikely,” George growled from his spot blocking the door along with Fred. 

Percy cast his brother a glance before he cleared his throat and looked up at Scrimgeour. “Is Harry here?” He asked Molly, all business now that introductions were out of the way.

“He is,” Molly cleared her own throat and turned to the house. “Harry, dear, you have a visitor!” 

Percy stepped aside to allow Scrimgeour some measure of privacy with Harry, folding his own arms protectively over his chest as he waited. Molly went inside, muttering something about Christmas presents and mince pies, while Bill stood beside Percy at the edge of the garden.

“What are you doing, Percy?” Bill whispered softly, his eyes fixed on Scrimgeour and Harry taking a turn about the garden together. “You sent back your jumper last year, didn’t even show up at the hospital when Dad was attacked, and at the Department of Mysteries-”

“I have it under control, Bill,” Percy whispered, his fingers itching for a cigarette. “I don’t need your help.”

“Clearly you’re the picture of health,” Bill scoffed, still not looking down at his brother. “You look like hammered shit.”

“I have a real job with demanding hours,” Percy hissed. “Not the bullshit that dad does at the Ministry.”

“Oh, really, enlighten me, I’m dying to know,” Bill tore his eyes away from Harry and Scrimgeour briefly and Percy glanced up at him. “Percy, just tell me what you’ve got mixed up in and I swear I will help you. I can fix this.”

“No, Bill, you can’t,” Percy turned to face his brother fully. “No one can and it’s no one’s fault but my own and I-” He bit his tongue hard enough to bleed, swallowing the taste of copper for a moment before he whispered. “I’m going to fix my own problems. I’m the only one who can do that.”

“You’re going to end up digging your grave even deeper if you do it on your own,” Bill faced Percy fully, narrowing his eyes. “Just tell me the truth.”

“You wouldn’t believe it even if I did.” Percy sighed.

“Percy?” Ron’s voice called out warily, and Percy glanced over to the door that led to the kitchen. Instead of the twins, Ron stood, holding Percy’s bag in his hand. “Wanted to give this back to you.”

“Keep it,” Percy shook his head, trying to convey with his eyes alone the questions he had. “I got a new one. I don’t need anything that’s in that one, but you could probably use some of the things in there at school.”

Ron’s eyes darted down to it and he frowned. “More hand-me-downs?”

“A couple,” Percy worked his jaw as he glanced over and saw Scrimgeour approaching. “Read any good books lately, Ron?”

“We’re leaving,” Scrimgeour said simply, and Percy stepped away from Ron and Bill.

“You should write letters more often, Ron.” Percy took Scrimgeour’s hand firmly. “Even if you never send them to anyone.” In a moment he was apparating back to the apparition point just outside the Ministry, releasing Scrimgeour’s hand. He glared at the man even as Scrimgeour opened his mouth to say something. “I will see you after the holidays, Minister.”

And then he apparated back to Cokesworth, hoping that Pettigrew was still in the bar and hadn’t noticed Percy’s absence.

* * *

“Tell me a story, Percival,” Voldemort called from his seat in front of the fireplace in the Lestrange Manor. The property, despite its masters being in Azkaban, had been loyally maintained by three house elves. It was not quite as grand as Malfoy Manor, but with Lucius imprisoned and numerous raids performed by the Ministry on the property it had become unsafe for even the remaining two Malfoys to remain there, much less Voldemort himself. 

Percy looked up from where he had been sitting reading a book about the Dark Arts silently. “My Lord?” He asked, closing the tome as Voldemort turned his enormous head on his serpentine neck to gaze at Percy. 

“Tell me a story about eternal life,” The man demanded and Percy placed the book aside, folding his hands over his lap as he stared into the fireplace. 

“Once upon a time there lived a young man by the name of Percival,” Percy watched the flames, thinking of his mother’s voice as she told him the story. “He was the son of King Pellinore, but he did not know this as his mother was a witch who had taken him deep into the woods to raise him away from the influence of men and teach him the deeper magics of the forest.” Voldemort’s blood red eyes were lingering on Percy, but he refused to look at the man as he continued his story. “One day he was gathering firewood when a formation of knights came upon him, asking for assistance in navigating the woods, for they were dark and treacherous and had already claimed the horse of one of their numbers.”

It had been years since he had heard the story of his namesake, but he remembered being curled up against his mother’s warm body in the dead of winter. 

“Percival led the knights to his mother’s home where he watched as they treated her with respect and chivalry. He saw their courtliness and heard tales of their great deeds beneath King Arthur and decided that he should join their numbers. With no armor or weapon of his own he asked for one payment for his mother’s hospitality and his own guidance: Upon leading them from the woods, they would take him to King Arthur so that Percival might become one of his knights.” Percy rested his jaw upon his knuckles for a long moment, trying to remember the wording his mother had used. 

“And did he?”

“Did he what?” Percy asked as the Dark Lord looked at him curiously, Percy’s own eyes meeting the man’s silently for a long moment. 

“Become a knight?” Voldemort gestured as if to urge Percy to continue on.

“Yes,” Percy looked at the fire. “Percival was the holiest of King Arthur’s knights, blessed by the Ressurectionist God, and as such he was tasked with the finding of the Holy Grail.”

“What is that?” Voldemort asked and Percy wondered what sort of childhood the man had had that he had never heard stories of King Arthur and his knights. 

“The Holy Grail was said to hold the blood of the Ressurectionist God, any who drank of the grail would be granted eternal life,” Percy looked into the fire once more and sighed softly as he continued. “The Holy Grail was guarded by the Fisher King, who sat in a boat on a lake and fished, asking any travelers passing if they might be able to heal his horribly burnt legs. If they were able to heal him the Fisher King would offer them a drink from the Holy Grail as their reward.”

“And Percival achieved this goal?” Voldemort asked, leaning closer in interest. 

Percy smiled sadly, shaking his head. “No, he failed. For all the old magics that his mother had taught him, for all his kindness and courtliness and holiness, Percival failed the Fisher King. In a fit of frustration Percival tried to steal the Holy Grail from the man’s hand, but was thrown from the King’s boat into the lake. When he surfaced the Fisher King, his boat, and the grail were all gone.”

Voldemort frowned at that, his eyes searching Percival’s face. “That is not a story about immortality.”

Percy met those twin pools of blood with his own green gaze and smiled. “It is a tale of ego and frustration. A tale of failure to achieve that which is impossible.” He picked up the book that he had been reading before. 

“What happened to the Percival of the story?”

“He confessed his sins to a Ressurectionist priest and the man offered him a penance that he should find the Fisher King and beg forgiveness,” Percy ran his thumb over the edge of a page, cutting his thumb on the fine paper. “He never found the Fisher King and died without accomplishing his goal of bringing King Arthur the Holy Grail.”

The man seated across from Percy scoffed. “Ressurectionists think they are so pure, so noble. And yet they spend their time search for that which only magic can provide.” Percy looked up at the man’s monstrous face, the too-wide mouth filled with too-straight, too-human teeth. “Only the dark arts, only evil can provide eternal life. It is the natural order that things will live, then die. This is inevitable. Why do you think the history of the Ressurectionist Cult is bathed in blood? A crude sacrifice in an attempt to gain that which they so desperately want.” 

Percy avoided those deep red eyes and shrugged. “They do not understand magic, they are merely trying to give order and meaning to a world that they cannot possibly fathom.”

“They believe their deity will lift them up, give them eternal life in a new form. There is but one life, Percival. No deity, no resurrection.” A moment, then a low chuckle slipped from Voldemort’s throat, tumbling from his lipless mouth. “An issue that will not perturb any who hold onto what is theirs. Ones such as myself.”

* * *

Percy checked the old Grandfather clock that Borgin had in the corner of his storage room. It was well past midnight and Percy had given Draco specific instructions. At thirty minutes past midnight Percy stood and moved to press his wand to the seam of the doors of the Vanishing Cabinet. 

“ _Harmonia Nectere Passus_.” He breathed out, drawing his wand carefully down the seam. “ _Harmonia Nectere Passus_.”

There was a click and then the sound of a bird’s soft chirrups from within the cabinet and Percy’s heart stopped. He swung the door open and stared down at the small white bird within. It hopped around, dizzy and confused, and Percy reached into the cabinet, startling the bird into taking flight.

“Fuck!” Percy hissed as he followed the bird around the shop, avoiding touching anything too deadly looking. Borgin’s shop was often filled with the muted murmurs of dark artifacts, but his storage room didn’t have that same luxury. Things that had been only the faintest sound of danger in the shop practically screamed within the confines of Percy’s skull. He wondered if his time possessed by Tom Riddle’s diary had caused this sensitivity, even more disturbing was the prospect that this would never end. 

“Get back here!” He hissed, snatching up the bird in his hand before it could fly head first into a mirror. The small creature struggled in his fist and Percy sighed as he gripped it tighter to keep the bird from wriggling free. He looked up at the mirror and froze at the sight before him.

He looked older. Much older than he should. Freshly turned twenty and he looked like he had aged a decade since he had graduated Hogwarts. His glasses were newer, still in the horn-rimmed style he had previously disliked but now found to suit his face. His hair was curled and styled, but he could see a few thin grey strands already starting to show in his hair. Stress had made him lose several pounds that he could not afford to lose, turning him gaunt and fragile looking. His clothes were tailored, more well-fitting, but his once freckled and sunkissed face was pale, as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in years. 

Even more disturbing, there was a cruel, calculating gleam in his eyes, his lips were curved into a near-permanent sneer, his brows arched dismissively as they looked down at the reflection of the bird in his grip, still shrilly singing for freedom. 

_Snap_. 

Percy stared at his own hand in the mirror, then looked at his palm, opening it to see the snapped neck of the delicate little creature. He stepped away from the mirror, forcing himself not to look at it as he walked slowly back to the vanishing cabinet. He placed the bird gently on the floor of the cabinet and closed it, breathing deeply as he held his wand to the seam and turned the handle. 

Once the handle clicked he dragged his wand down the seam and whispered. “ _Harmonia Nectere Passus_.”

Opening the door once the handle clicked open he saw that the bird’s little body was gone.

Percy allowed himself to sink slowly to his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor of the Vanishing Cabinet, and wished he could just disappear.

* * *

“You’re very quiet tonight,” Severus whispered as he made a sweeping curve line of pale yellow sand. The smell of ash, herbs, and sand clung to both of them and Percy looked away from the mandala the two of them had spent the last hour making on the table of Spinner’s End. Pettigrew had been all but banished from the house while the two of them performed the finicky, ancient magic. It took steady hands and concentration and even though the two of them let the radio play softly in the background. 

Percy straightened the small glass mandala jar, plugging the tapered opening with his finger. Severus had made the various sands himself. Yellow sand scented with lemongrass. Pink sand scented with orange oil. Green sand with Irish moss. White sand with dill. Violet sand with finely ground lilac petals. Percy had spent hours watching Severus prepare the sands, breathing in the fresh, clean scents of the dried herbs and drops of oils mixed with white ash and sand. 

“Draco and I have repaired the cabinet,” Percy whispered softly. “I can’t keep it secret for long.”

Severus stopped in his own work of the mandala, placing the teardrop-shaped glass vial aside. “I will inform Dumbledore.” He said softly. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Percy stared at Severus and the man refused to look at him. 

“I will complete the mandala myself-”

“No, Severus,” Percy reached out and rested his hand on the man’s. “I don’t want to do this. I want us to leave.”

“I have to help Draco,” Severus laced his fingers with Percy’s. “If I don’t then I will die.”

Percy gripped at Severus’ fingers, staring up at his lover. “Please. Once it’s done then we leave. We run far away from here. Together.”

Severus rested his forehead against Percy’s and he drew Percy close for a soft, long kiss. “When all is said and done, we will leave. Be ready.”

Percy nodded, his fingers tangling in Severus’ hair as he stared up at the man. “I love you, Severus.”

“I love you as well, Percy,” Pale guided Percy to lay upon the table as thin lips gently lavished kisses and soft bites to the younger man’s lips.

“Bad luck to ruin and unfinished mandala,” He whispered, his fingers combing through dark hair as colored sand smeared and spread and dropped upon the floor in swirling, opalescent piles.

“Worse luck to leave your lover unkissed on Ostara,” Severus cradled Percy’s jaw, drawing him closer. 

“That’s only for fertility spells,” Percy protested with a smile, his fingers combing through the man’s hair.

“Kiss me anyway,” Severus whispered, his fingers drawing Percy closer until their lips met in another soft kiss. The sunlight poured in through the open windows and Percy smiled as he looked up at the man over him, not even caring that his hair was covered in ash and sand and dried herbs. 

The radio played on, a man’s voice softly singing as they kissed. 

_My sin was loving you, not wisely but too well… Your sin was letting me, and getting me in your spell…_

“Once it’s done we’ll leave,” Severus echoed Percy’s words to him, his fingers combing through soft red curls. “I swear.”

_Our sin was following… Our love that could not be…_

“I love you,” Percy whispered, ignoring the song playing on the radio as he pulled Severus down tightly for a deeper kiss, tears leaking out of his own eyes, sliding into his hairline as he stared up at his lover. “I’m scared, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I know,” The man whispered, and in a moment Severus was lifting Percy, drawing long legs around his waist and whispering a gentle levitation spell. He carried Percy up the narrow stairs of the kitchen into the master bedroom. The door locked, the curtains drew themselves closed, and in a moment Percy was sprawled onto freshly laundered sheets. “I love you, Percy.” The man whispered, as if saying the words somehow protected him, as if they were a spell all of their own. 

Percy bit Severus’ lower lip and in a moment they were lost in the process of stripping one another from their clothing, Severus’ layer upon layer of black tossed down to the floor while he gripped Percy’s soft woolen jumper and tugged it over his head, nimble fingers undoing the fiddly buttons of Percy’s shirt while Percy’s fingers worked at the ties of the man’s trousers. It felt like a blessing to know that he was the only person who saw Severus like this, desperate and hungry, his lips seeking Percy’s out as if they were a communion wafer of a Ressurectionist church, granting him eternal life. Pale fingers traced over Severus’ scars, finding small patches of tender, unblemished skin and lavishing kisses upon those areas as Severus’ own fingers tossed aside Percy’s trousers and underclothes. They stared at one another and Percy was the first to reach up, drawing Severus down for a long kiss. 

It felt like a goodbye. Like they might not have another moment alone like this, and Percy didn’t want to waste it. 

Hours later, late into the night, Percy sat with his tarot deck, a new one, not the one that had been a casualty of the Department of Mysteries. Severus was sleeping, bathed in the cold glow of the moon, and Percy thought of him as he whispered questions to his deck.

“What does the future hold for us?” 

The Hanged Man, upright. 

Percy frowned as he held the deck to his lips and whispered, “What is the core reason for our future circumstances?”

The Emperor, reversed. The answer to that one was clearer, but there were two men who could be The Emperor and Percy didn’t like the idea of either of them meddling in his future any more than they already were.

Most predictions were best made in threes, so Percy lifted the deck to his lips one last time. “What is the potential resolution of the situation?”

The Tower, upright.

Percy stared at the three cards laid out before him and took a deep breath before he picked them up and placed them on the bedside table. He stood beside the window and carefully slipped it open, glancing back at Severus when the man let out a grunt and rolled until he managed to kick off the blankets he had become tangled up in, leaving his scarred torso exposed to the cool March air. After a moment Percy grabbed the silver cigarette case and sat on the edge of the window. Even with only the moonlight filling the room he could make out the Malfoy coat of arms engraved on the surface. He thought of ancient magics, of the numerous diaries in the Malfoy library that he had spent months reading through nearly endlessly. 

He thought of cloves and the protective properties of the plant. He thought of moly and how it protected against enchantments. Filling the room with the smell of his cigarette, Percy slid off the window sill after he threw away the used filter and grasped his wand. 

All magic was once steeped in blood. Purebloods were not inherently better witches or wizards than muggleborns or halfbloods, but there was protection in blood. There were ancient magics in Weasley blood, set in motion by Judith Weasley, the first of their line who was burnt at the stake to protect her children, these bonds of love and protection passed down in blood through generations. 

The same blood that ran in the veins of Judith Weasley ran in Percy’s veins. The same love that had protected her family line beat in Percy’s heart. Using his wand to prick his finger, Percy let the blood well before he drew careful lines in Severus’ skin. 

“I call upon the blood of Judith Weasley, Mother of my Line, and all of her descendants,” He whispered, watching the blood flow more freely now that he had begun to work the spell. “I call upon the light of the Worm Moon to protect my beloved, that his flesh not be torn or his blood spilled upon the floor, that he feel no pain nor suffer the agonies of spells.” He finished the careful design by drawing his finger up the man’s throat, over his Adam’s apple, his chin, to press his bloody finger to the sleeping man’s lips. “For my love for him gives me strength and his love for me sustains my soul.”

The blood was black in the moonlight, and Percy watched as it seemed to deepen as he finished the spell, the golden eleventh hour moon inching towards midnight. Before Percy’s eyes the blood dried, then vanished until there was no sign that it had even lingered on Severus’ skin, the magic settling, protecting. 

Percy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, kissing Severus’ lips before he laid down beside the man, wrapping his limbs protectively around his lover’s thin frame. “I love you.” He whispered, even though Severus could not hear or return the words.

* * *

“I’ll be going home now, sir,” Percy said as he stood in the doorway of Minister Scrimgeour’s office. The man looked exhausted and Percy couldn’t blame him. He had inherited a crumbling infrastructure and most of the decent people had already started to jump ship. The man was grabbing a bucket to try and save the sinking vessel when really he should be grabbing a paddle. 

“Sit down, Weasley,” The man reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. Percy kept his expression neutral, but couldn’t help but think fondly of Severus and how that brand was his favourite. “Share a drink with me.”

“I doubt that’s appropriate,” Percy said, but sat down anyway. He pulled out a cigarette from the silver case and placed it between his lips as Scrimgeour mirrored the gesture with his own cigar. Percy lit both of their smokes and accepted two fingers of firewhiskey in exchange, murmuring a thanks. “Isn’t the Missus wondering where you are now?” Percy asked. 

“No Missus to worry about those sorts of things,” Scrimgeour breathed out a cloud of smoke and looked at Percy. “And you?”

“No Missus either,” Percy shrugged.

“So a Mister?” Scrimgeour waved off Percy’s scowl. “You are the center of a proven affair with Lucius Malfoy, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Perhaps he was a one-off?” Percy asked. “Young people make bad decisions all the time.”

“Like sleeping with a married man?” Scrimgeour shook his head. “Lucius Malfoy must have been good in bed to get you to stick around.”

“Lucius Malfoy’s abilities in bed were not the reason I slept with him,” Percy scoffed, swirling his glass as he looked at Scrimgeour. “In Fudge’s regime the most powerful spell was the one that opened up the Malfoy Gringotts vault.” He took a sip of his drink. “I merely went to the source of all influence in the Ministry directly.”

Scrimgeour gave a barking laugh and took another puff of his cigar. “I stand by what I said when I first met you, Weasley, you got a shrewd mind.”

“And I stand by what I said in response,” Percy took a drink of his firewhiskey. “I take that as a compliment.”

They sat in silence for a few long moments before Scrimgeour downed the last of his drink and poured another two fingers. “So, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Hmm?”

“Got a Mister waiting for you at home?”

Percy thought of Severus. “He’s traveling abroad at the moment.” Not technically a lie. 

While magic made the trip from Cokeworth to Hogwarts a mere moment’s travel, several hours still separated them. The closest that Percy got to the man most nights other than the Sabbat or summer breaks at Hogwarts was pressing his face to Severus’ pillow at Spinner’s End or sniffing a bottle of Amortentia that he had managed to procure from Weasley Wizard Wheezes one day while under the guise of a glamour. The potion smelled like whoever you most desired, and Percy had spent hours just breathing in the scent of the potion.

“Tell me about him,” Scrimgeour demanded, and Percy gave the man a disapproving look.

“Now _that_ is beyond propriety.” He chided and Scrimgeour waved his hand dismissively.

“Don’t tell me the man’s name. Tell me about the man himself.”

Percy worked his jaw. He had spent so long avoiding people finding out about the affair that it was nigh unfathomable to divulge even the smallest details to anyone. On the other hand… It wasn’t as if Rufus Scrimgeour and Percy Weasley ran within the same social circles and Scrimgeour seemed to disapprove of workplace gossip as a whole. 

“He’s older than me,” Percy cleared his throat. “If my family knew, or cared, they’d probably have a conniption.”

“Careful about us older men,” Scrimgeour gave a laugh. “If we want something to do with men half our age it can’t be good.”

“Don’t I know,” Percy rolled his eyes. “I fucked Lucius Malfoy, remember?”

The laugh that was startled out of Scrimgeour was more surprised at that. “Alright, tell me more about your King Charming.”

“He’s a halfblood,” Percy hummed. “He wears it like a chip on his shoulder, but he’s brilliant and I always tell him he shouldn’t worry about silly things like his blood status. He’s got… A lot of people who rely on him, and he bears that responsibility like it’s his divine duty.” Percy thought of Severus’ serious face, of his rare smiles. “I’m honored that he trusts me… By all rights he shouldn’t, but he does.” He wondered what would constitute as too much to disclose, and decided to twist the truth a bit more. “I suffered a horrible curse when I was a teenager. I met him through my brother, Bill, who works as curse breaker for Gringotts. At the time he was abroad in Egypt and the family went to visit him… Bill introduced us and I’ve… I’ve never trusted anyone more in my life.”

“Dangerous work, curse breaking,” Scrimgeour hummed and took a sip of his whiskey, watching Percy quietly. “Careful that you don’t get caught in the crossfire of his work life and personal.”

It was Percy’s turn to give a harsh, mirthless laugh and knocked back the glass of whiskey like a shot. “Too late for that bit of advice, sir.”

* * *

“Is it ready, weasel?” Bellatrix asked as she paced in Borgin and Burkes’ storage room impatiently, prowling like an impatient she-wolf. 

“It should be,” Percy said simply, taking a deep breath. “One more test would be a person.”

“Well then,” Greyback’s enormous hand grasped the back of Percy’s neck. “Why don’t you and I go through, Percy?”

“Let go of me!” Percy snarled, trying to elbow the man away even as he was hauled bodily off the ground, placed in the Vanishing Cabinet before Greyback’s bulk pressed in alongside him. “Wait, wait, don’t close that-”

Bellatrix slammed the door closed and there was the click of the handle. Percy shoved at Greyback, struggling as the man let out a low laugh, before he shoved and stumbled through the door of the cabinet. He wasn’t in Borgin and Burkes’ anymore. Looking around in confusion he frowned at the mountains of junk that was piled as high as the ceilings. There was a statue of Gellert Grindelwald shoved among torn up books and a mound of damaged or ruined clothing. 

“This must be the room of requirement,” Percy frowned as he looked around the room, only to freeze when he felt a wandpoint pressed to his throat. Draco looked awful, his hand shaking as he glared at Percy and looked at Greyback, as if both of them were equally hazardous to the student’s health. 

“Where are the others?” He demanded, and Percy held up his hands to show he was unarmed. “Where are they?”

“On the other side of the cabinet,” Percy said as calmly as he could. “They’ll likely be through momentarily now that our guts aren’t spattered all over the insides of the cabinet.”

In a moment the door clicked open again and Gibbon climbed out, followed by Yaxley, Rowle, the Carrow twins, and Bellatrix herself in short order, Draco stepping back to look at the group with a mixture of terror and relief. 

“Good work, wittle pet weasel!” Bellatrix laughed, baby-talking as she pinched Percy’s cheek tightly. “You’re not going to give us trouble now, aren’t you?” Percy shook his head wordlessly and Bellatrix gently pet his face before she sank her fingers into his curls. “Now tell us where they’re meant to be.”

“What?” Percy felt his heart pounding in his chest as Bellatrix’s sharp nails leaving painful gouges in his scalp. “I don’t know, I’m not a mindreader, I don’t know where Dumbledore is meant to be at any given time!”

“I know that that bastard tells you everything, now where are they!?” Bellatrix’s wand was drawn and she aimed it at his throat. 

Percy jerked away, his hand slapping across the woman’s face in an attempt to shock her into releasing him. He managed to get his wand drawn and shouted the first spell he could think of, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The small bat patronus burst forth from the end of Percy’s wand, fluttering away to safety even as Yaxley reached out and snatched Percy’s wand from him.

“You dare raise your wand at me?!” Bellatrix threw Percy against the statue of Grindelwald, pinning him down with a hand on his throat and her wand aimed at his face. “Foul, ungrateful little weasel!” Her spit flecked his face as she shouted and Percy kicked and struggled as his breath came in shorter gasps. “ _Crucio_!”

Pain ripped through him like Percy couldn’t imagine, writhing and screaming as his head fell back and his legs gave out. He choked on his own blood, realizing he had bitten through his tongue as Bellatrix dragged him up with an almost inhuman strength, hauling him through the room. 

“Lead the way, Draco, I want Severus to see the light leave this filthy little blood traitor’s eyes,” Bellatrix hissed as she dug her wand into Percy’s jugular hard enough to make him dizzy with the pain. 

Draco led the way, his footsteps echoing far before them and Percy realized they were making their way to the Astronomy tower. Percy thought of moonwater being made on a Samhain eve and squeezed his eyes shut as they moved. He didn’t want those memories tarnished with bloodshed, with death. As they climbed the winding flights of stairs Percy stumbled and clawed at Bellatrix’s wrist. His wand was probably lost to the endless valleys of junk in the Room of Requirement and he only hoped that his patronus had managed to alert Severus that he was here, in the castle, that he couldn’t prevent this any longer. 

“Draco!” Bellatrix’s voice echoed around the tower and the Death Eaters laughed as they followed her, Percy stumbling along and wondering if flinging himself down the spiraling staircase would be an inconvenience or a distraction to them. “Come out come out wherever you are!” The group arrived at the top of the Astronomy tower and Percy struggled against Bellatrix’s grip as he heard Dumbledore’s voice. 

“He trusts me, I was chosen for this!” Draco’s voice trembled and Percy felt his heart ache for the boy. As much as Percy felt a personal distaste for Draco’s father, and as cruel as Draco had been to him personally, the boy didn’t deserve this burden.

The steps groaned, “Let me make it easy for you, Draco-”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Draco snapped and Percy heard Dumbledore’s wand skitter across the thick wooden floor. 

“Very good, very good,” Dumbledore encouraged, but he sounded tired, as if it was a struggle to keep breathing much less talking. The curse had likely begun to run its course. Percy stumbled and hissed as Bellatrix’s nails dug into his scalp, drawing the attention of the man and boy standing over him. “Oh… There are others? How?”

“The Vanishing Cabinet in the room of requirement.” Draco explained, voice trembling. “I’ve been mending it.”

A pause and Percy stumbled, trying to resist the pull, holding up the other Death Eaters as Bellatrix fought against Percy’s dead weight, “Let me guess, it has a sister, a twin?”

“In Borgin and Burkes’. They form a passage.”

“Ingenious,” Dumbledore had a smile in his voice and Percy felt his heart ache as he was backhanded by Bellatrix and dragged up the last flight of stairs. “Draco, years ago I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help! You don’t understand, I have to do this! I have to kill you! Or he’s going to kill me!”

“Look what we have here!” Bellatrix grinned and Percy felt himself being hauled up further, like a human shield in front of Bellatrix’s much shorter form. “Well done, Draco.” She crooned and Draco flinched as his aunt shifted closer to him.

“Evening, Bellatrix.” Dumbledore looked through his half-moon spectacles at the group surrounding him. “I think introductions are in order.”

“I’d love to, Albus, but I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule.” Bellatrix’s wand pressed to Percy’s jaw and he let out a gasp of pain as he straightened, trying to put distance between his body and Bellatrix’s volatile wand point. “Do it, Draco!”

“He doesn’t have the stomach, just like his father!” Greyback snarled, lumbering forward until he stood behind Draco, his enormous paw on the boy’s shoulder. “Let me finish him in my own way.”

“No!” Bellatrix hissed, and Percy whimpered as her wand dug sharper into his jaw. Yaxley used Percy’s own wand to jinx the werewolf, sending him tumbling and wheezing to the ground. “The Dark Lord was clear that the boy is to do it!” Bellatrix turned her attention to Draco more fully, her grip on Percy loosening slightly. “This is your moment, do it!” The youngest Malfoy hesitated, his hand shaking as he stared at his Headmaster. “Go on, Draco, now!”

“No.”

The entire astronomy tower seemed to freeze as Severus stepped forward, his black robes eclipsing Draco as he stood in front of the younger man. 

“Severus,” Percy whispered, choking as he watched the man. “Severus, do it.” Bellatrix and Greyback at least were poised to finish Draco’s job before Severus could fulfill his vow. 

“No, Severus, the Dark Lord has spoken!” Bellatrix snarled. “Draco is to do it, to prove his loyalty!”

If that happened then Severus would be dead. “Do it, kill him, Severus.” Percy’s voice rose in panic as Greyback shifted, his legs moving as if to lunge towards Dumbledore. “Severus!"

"Don't listen to him, Severus! The Dark Lord wants Draco to do it!" Bellatrix shouted, torn between aiming her wand at Severus, Dumbledore, or keeping it on Percy’s throat.

"Severus, kill him!" Percy shouted, his voice cracking as he was jerked closer to Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters.

“Severus,” Dumbledore called out and Percy couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could hear his voice. He sounded exhausted. “Please.”

A second, a heartbeat’s worth of silence, and then, “ _Avada Kedavra_.” A flash of green and Dumbledore’s body was thrown off the edge of the tower. 

Bellatrix released Percy and howled in glee as she threw her wand towards the sky. “ _Morsmordre_!”

Severus grasped Percy’s arm, dragging him away from Bellatrix as Draco stood, frozen in terror at the sight of the other Death Eaters looking over the edge of the tower, watching Dumbledore’s body impact on the ground. Percy grasped at Severus’ hand tightly even as his free hand grabbed at Draco’s shirt collar. 

“Now is not the time to freeze up, Draco,” Percy hissed as he hauled the younger man away from where he was rooted in place. “We need to get out of here!”

The group of Death Eaters made their way down the spiraling, winding staircase, Percy and Draco stumbling over one another as Severus kept his clipped pace. 

“Yaxley!” Percy shouted as he heard the steps of others approaching the tower from down one of Hogwarts’ winding halls. He turned to the white-haired wizard, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement sneering as he glared at Percy. “My wand, please!”

Yaxley laughed, tossing Percy’s wand down the hallway with a loud “fetch” to emphasize his opinion of the younger wizard. Percy raced after it, only to stop when a boot crunched down upon the fragile wood, snapping it in half. Percy froze, looking up at his brother’s face. Bill stared down at his brother and Percy felt his heart pounding at Bill’s sharp, blue eyes fixed on him.

There was a second of stillness as the two brothers stared at one another, and then Percy ducked as Bill threw a curse at him. 

“Percy!” Severus’ voice called out and an echoing curse flew past his head as Percy turned.

“Go, Severus, I’ll meet you there!” Percy shouted, ducking another harsh curse before he did the only thing he could think of and grabbed Bill’s wand arm, baring his teeth as he stared up at his older, stronger brother. 

“You fucking traitor!” Bill shouted, fighting against Percy’s own arm. “You’re one of them!” His free hand grasped at Percy’s face, shoving him away and Percy squinted up at the older Weasley. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, unable to think of what else he could say. “Tell… Tell everyone I’m sorry.” Percy lunged up and sank his teeth into Bill’s arm, causing his brother to howl in pain and shove him away out of instinct. Percy ripped away from Bill and raced after Severus and the other Death Eaters. 

He could hear Bill chasing him, throwing spells after Percy as they wound through the halls of the castle, a terrifying game of cat and mouse. Severus and Draco were still walking, making their way to the edge of the forbidden forest and Percy felt his lungs burn as he chased after the two, catching up to Severus even as a new voice called after them. 

“Snape!” Harry Potter shouted, and Percy stumbled as Severus froze and turned. 

“Severus, we need to go,” Percy whispered, flinching as Bellatrix set Hagrid’s hut ablaze. “Severus!”

“He trusted you, Snape!” Harry was closer now, and Percy grasped at Severus’ arm, pulling him away as the young student snarled. “ _Incarcerous_!”

“Severus!” Percy tried to pull the man, causing him to stumble even as those dark eyes stared at Harry in pain.

The boy didn’t see or didn’t care for Severus’ pained expression, waving his wand and shouting, “ _Sectumsempra_!” 

Percy flinched and choked on his own breath as the spell went wide and slashed across his shoulder and chest, causing pain to explode from him. 

“ _Stupefy_!” Severus barked, and Harry Potter went tumbling down upon the grass. Percy fell to his knee as he watched the man approach Harry, looming over the boy. Whatever words were exchanged, Percy couldn’t hear. When Severus returned he knelt and lifted Percy into his arms, whispering a levitation spell to aid as Percy hissed and breathed through the pain.

* * *

The wand was longer than his old one, the clean smell of pine wafting up from the box as Percy opened it. 

“Dragon heartstring,” Severus said softly. “Pliant.”

Percy nodded and held the wand in his grip, staring at the wand. His shoulder still twinged whenever he made too sharp of a movement, but otherwise Severus had managed to heal his wounds. He held the wand in his hand and after a moment tried to think of a happy memory. 

He thought of laying in Spinner’s End, Severus’ fingers on his jaw, the clean sheets drawn over their heads as if to soften the world around them. He thought of one of Severus’ rare smiles, sleepy and warm. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

His bat fluttered out of the wand tip and Severus watched as it fluttered around his head, weak and filmy, before the man reached out and brushed his fingers over the glowing warmth of the patronus. It vanished into thin air and Percy smiled weakly as he looked at Severus.

“The first time I saw that I was surprised,” Severus whispered, his fingers brushing over Percy’s soft curls. They still had the lingering warmth of the patronus on them. 

“Oh?” Percy tilted his head into the warm touch. “What were you expecting?”

“A mongoose,” Percy didn’t have to ask the question as Severus explained it softly. “They are used to protect against snakes. They are immune to the venom of even the most deadly of cobras.” After a moment Severus settled on the bed and drew the younger man to his chest. “One of my favourite stories is about a mongoose.”

“Tell me?” Percy asked, exhausted and still aching in pain from the curse he had caught in his shoulder. 

“Once upon a time there was a mongoose, he looked rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and his habits.” Severus’ fingers stroked over Percy’s curls, over his cheek and jaw, his low double-bass soothing as he told the story. “His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink; he could scratch himself anywhere he pleased, with any leg, front or back, that he chose to use; he could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle-brush, and his war-cry, as he scuttled through the long grass, was: ‘Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!’.” Percy laughed softly at the sound of Severus speaking the mongoose’s war cry. “One day, a high summer flood washed him out of the burrow where he lived with his father and mother, and carried him, kicking and clucking, down a roadside ditch…”


	7. Absquatulate: (v.) to leave without saying goodbye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and The Name of the Game.

Professor Burbage was silent as she hovered, beaten and bruised, over the table of Malfoy Manor’s dining room. Voldemort sat at the head, his own plate empty as he watched his Death Eaters drink wine and eat a lavish meal provided by the House Elves. Severus sat to Voldemort’s right, Percy to the Dark Lord’s left, and the two of them avoided looking at the morbid centerpiece that was Charity Burbage. 

“You’ve hardly touched your food, Percival,” Voldemort said as he lifted a glass of wine to his inhuman lips, pouring some of the rich red liquid directly into his mouth. 

“I’m afraid this food is too rich for my tastes,” Percy whispered. “I prefer much simpler meals.”

“How rude to our dear host,” Voldemort gestured to Lucius Malfoy, who sat about halfway down the table. Percy was sure that Narcissa didn’t want people to know that she was clutching her husband’s hand so tightly that their arms shook. The other Death Eaters were set so far on edge that they didn’t say anything. “After all, this is a feast to honor Lucius’ return, along with the others, from Azkaban.” A few Death Eaters raised their glasses down the table and Percy’s fingers twitched upon the edge of his own glass before he raised it in a brief, half-hearted toast. “But I supposed you’re merely eager to get down to business.” Voldemort placed his glass aside and waved his hand. The food and drink was vanished and Percy folded his hands in his own lap, staunchly avoiding Professor Burbage’s eyes. 

“Thank you, My Lord,” Percy said softly, looking up at the monster beside him, keeping his thoughts guarded and even as he watched him.

“This is Miss Charity Burbage, the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts,” Voldemort explained, turning his hand gently to draw the woman further down the table. “She believes that Muggles are no different than us, and that we should even mate with them.”

Percy avoided looking at Professor Burbage, instead fixing his eyes on Severus, who was watching the woman with an expression that Percy was sure no one at the table would interpret as pain. 

“Severus, please,” Professor Burbage whispered weakly. “We’re friends.”

Percy felt his heart go out to his lover as the man forced his lips to curl into a sneer, looking away from the woman to Voldemort. “A killing spell would be too good for her, My Lord.” He whispered.

“How right you are, Severus.” Voldemort stood, his long, serpentine neck extending his inhuman skull towards the levitated woman. Professor Burbage’s eyes had tears leaking from them, dotting the table with glistening moisture. Percy bit his tongue so hard that blood welled up in his mouth as Voldemort’s enormous, inhuman jaw unhinged, the corners of his too-wide mouth pulled back to allow the woman’s head to descend towards the monster’s gullet. 

The wet crunch of bone, of swallowing, of the towering monster crunching and compacting Charity Burbage’s entire torso made Percy want to scream as he stared across the table at Severus, the man’s own eyes wide in horror. They were both silent as the lower half of the woman landed on the table with a wet thud, and Voldemort gave a great, compressing swallow of his throat, cracking bone easily. 

“Nagini,” The monster purred, stroking his hand over the snake’s great head. “Dinner time.” As the bones of what was once Charity Burbage crunched and were swallowed down by Nagini, Voldemort wiped at his own mouth with a black handkerchief, tucking the fabric away once he had cleaned his deathly white skin of every trace of his barbarism. “Now that we have all eaten, to business.”

Percy could barely hear anything as his heart pounded in his ears, but when Voldemort spoke to Pius Thicknesse he glanced over at the man quietly. There had been discussion once about placing the man under the Imperius curse, but between Yaxley and Percy’s own gentle prodding and goading the man had been brought into the fold of the Dark Lord. Amelia Bones’ murder had driven him into the good graces of Voldemort when he came to Yaxley directly and requested an audience with the man.

“My sources within the Ministry say that Potter will be moved on the 30th of August-”

“The Ministry now plays no part in the safety of Harry Potter,” Severus interjected. “Your information is unreliable.”

“And yours is more so?” Thicknesse asked the other man, his eyes narrowed as he glared down the table at Severus. “I’m sure the Order of the Phoenix are just falling over themselves to whisper in your ear after you murdered their beloved leader.”

“I was the one who informed Severus of this,” Percy whispered softly, looking over at Thicknesse. “My family, fools that they are, are still loyal to Dumbledore’s cause. I still bear Weasley blood and as such can penetrate the wards surrounding the Burrow.” It had been a painful experience, going through the house and seeing shadows of his old life. He held up the note that had been kept in the presumed safety of Arthur’s desk. “The date that has been decided upon by the Order is the 27th of July.”

* * *

Percy waited behind the Burrow, chewing on his thumb nail nervously. His mother was in the kitchen, cooking something as she waited. He could smell fresh parsley, boiling water that probably had potatoes in it. He missed her food, her warmth, but he couldn’t think about hunger right now. He had to wait, had to make sure everything was alright. 

Harry and Hagrid arrived, crashing into the small duck pond nearby, but Percy didn’t care about them. Then Lupin and George arrived, followed quickly by Hermione and Shacklebolt, Ron and Tonks, Fred and Arthur, and when Fleur and Bill arrived Percy finally let himself breathe. He listened outside the house to the commotion, the arguments, the relief, and when he straightened he felt a wand pressed to the back of his neck. 

“What are you doing here?” Bill’s voice asked and Percy closed his eyes as his brother inched around the edge of the house, glaring down at him. 

“I just wanted to make sure you survived,” Percy whispered, his hands held up to show his wand was not drawn. “Put that away, we both know that I’m no good with wandless magic, you’d trounce me in a duel even if I did have it drawn.”

“I should fucking kill you,” Bill choked on the words and Percy turned to face him, letting his arms fall to his sides. 

“Death would be a mercy,” Percy said simply as he stared at his brother. He had overstayed the time he had alloted for this. He needed to get back to Malfoy Manor before anyone questioned why he wasn’t there. “If you’re going to kill me please do it now, otherwise I have an appointment to keep.”

Bill’s wand shook and Percy stared up at his brother. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened,” Percy shook his head. “I happened.”

The wand lowered and in a heartbeat Percy was gone, apparating back to the outside of Malfoy Manor. He looked up as the great wrought iron gates recognized him and opened. He stepped through and opened the silver cigarette case to place one between his lips. Lucius had stopped smoking on his return from Azkaban. A year was a decent amount of time to kick the habit, Percy supposed as he ran his thumb over the Malfoy crest on the case. 

He watched white peacocks squawk and flutter across the lawn and wondered at the luxury of them as he took a turn about the tall, neatly manicured hedges of the garden. He sat in the small pavillion at the center of the garden and smoked one, two, then three cigarettes, staring off into the distant darkness.

“That is a vile habit,” A familiar voice called and Percy glanced over his shoulder at Severus, the man lurking like a boggart in the shadows. Percy straightened, blowing out the last lungful of smoke before he stubbed the half-finished cigarette out on the sole of his shoe. 

“I’ve taken it up recently for my health,” Percy gave a harsh laugh. “I should smoke two at a time, might kill me faster.”

“They’ve made it?” Severus stepped into the pavillion. 

“Moody is dead. Mundungus bolted the moment he saw Voldemort, apparently,” Percy sighed and looked at the man. “I’m to assume the polyjuice potion was your idea?”

“I confounded Mundungus quite thoroughly. I was worried he wouldn’t get the idea across.”

“We’re playing a dangerous game here, Severus,” Percy whispered, standing and turning to face the man more fully. “What if we fail?”

“We won’t,” Severus whispered. 

“How can you be so sure?” Percy searched the man’s dark eyes, glittering in the starlight over Malfoy Manor. 

“I’m not,” Those thin, potion-stained fingers cupped Percy’s jaw. “But we must finish what we started.”

Percy leaned up to kiss the man, deep and slow, their arms tangled around one another, Percy’s fingers grasping at Severus’ hair. They parted after a long moment and Percy let out a shuddering breath. “You should go.”

Severus stole another, much more brief, kiss and stepped back. When he apparated away Percy froze, staring across the lawn at the widely grinning face of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

“Fuck.” He whispered empathetically, striding quickly down to her. “What did you see.”

“Only you attempting to give dear ickle Sevvy a Dementor’s Kiss,” The woman cackled, grinning up at Percy. “So that’s how you got involved with all of this?”

“Bellatrix, don’t tell anyone,” Percy warned, glaring down at her.

“Or what?” She bared her teeth in a feral look and Percy ran through everything he could think of before he settled on a suitable threat.

His hand immediately snatched her beloved anthame from her hip, holding the knife tightly despite the awkward angle. He held it over his own throat and stared at her. “How does you attempting to kill me sound?”

Bellatrix hesitated before she scoffed, glaring at him. “Kill yourself, the Dark Lord would be better off without you.”

“Do you wonder why I was given the diary? Why he keeps me around?” Percy whispered. “He gave you the cup, but what connection does he have to _Helga Hufflepuff_?” He could feel the blade against his throat as he swallowed, his hand refusing to shake. “I was given his _diary_. He poured his heart and soul into it and I did the same.” Bellatrix’s gaze was less certain now. “You tell him about Severus and I? I tell him you tried to kill me.” He dragged the knife against his throat, just enough to make a clean, thin line of blood well up before he threw the knife into the ground, the tip burying between Bellatrix’s feet. “Chew on that thought for a bit.”

* * *

“These are dark times, there is no denying.” Percy stood behind Minister Scrimgeour as the man gave his speech to the dazzled and dizzy press as they jostled and jockeyed to be the one to catch the best photograph of the Minister of Magic. “Our world has, perhaps, faced no greater threat than it does today.” He looked out at the group, his piercing golden eyes fixed on the people. “But I say this to our citizenry: We, ever your servants, will continue to defend your liberty and repel the forces that seek to take it from you.” Scrimgeour lifted his clenched fist, as if that might be the best show of strength he could think to give. “Your ministry remains strong.”

“Minister!” People shouted, trying to garner the man’s attention as he turned, leaving Percy to replace his presence at the podium where he had given his speech.

“Minister Scrimgeour, a question for the Daily Prophet!” Rita Skeeter’s familiar shrill voice called out and Percy glared at the woman as he raised his hand to call for silence.

“The Minister will be giving no comment,” Percy told the protesting masses. “I will be answering any following questions, but first I would like to address some malicious rumors that have circulated.” Flashbulbs continued to go off and Percy looked down his nose at the numerous reporters and photographers. “First of all, the Ministry mourns the death of Albus Dumbledore and will conduct a full and thorough investigation into his murder. As of right now several suspects are being considered and investigated but no solid evidence has been found.”

“Mister Weasley-” A hand waved and Percy gestured to the witch in the back row that had called out. “Is it true that Hogwarts will reopen for the semester?”

“Yes, that is true,” Percy nodded his head. 

“You don’t think that it is too dangerous without Albus Dumbledore there?” Another reporter asked and Percy turned his gaze to them.

“This is something the Ministry had spent considerable time debating in the months since Albus Dumbledore’s death. All departments have come to a unanimous agreement that the best and most secure replacement for Albus Dumbledore is his good friend and confidant, Severus Snape.” That caused a riot of noise to break out, and Percy lifted his wand to his throat to speak up over the crowd. “Severus Snape is a dedicated potion’s master and loyal to the rule of law and order. He has proven time and time again to have only the best interests of his students at heart. Whatever any of you might think of his teaching methods, he is a perfectly equitable replacement to Albus Dumbledore.”

One voice cried out above all the rests, “My daughter won’t be attending under that great bat!”

“That is no longer your decision,” Percy said simply. “The Ministry has made the decision that in order to protect the children of our population that Hogwarts is the safest place for them to remain, attendance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is as of right now mandatory until the Ministry deems otherwise.” He stepped back and lowered his wand, canceling the amplification charm as he did so. “Thank you for your time and attention.” He turned and followed in Scrimgeour’s footsteps.

He made his way up to the man’s office and Percy sighed as he opened the door and saw the Minister of Magic already working through a pile of correspondence. Percy opened a bottle of firewhiskey and poured a glass for the Minister. 

“Great speech, Mister Weasley,” Scrimgeour accepted the glass with a grateful nod. “Especially liked the bit about “ever your servants” and such.”

Percy moved to sit in the chair in front of Scrimgeour’s desk. “Speechwriting is simple enough. You just need to know what people want to hear.” Percy glanced at the clock over the mantle of the Minister’s floo. 

“Have a lot of experience with that, do you?” Scrimgeour asked as he sipped at his whiskey. “You tell Fudge a lot of pretty lies?”

“Not just Fudge,” Percy said simply as he watched the man. “I’ve told a lot of people a lot of lies. Some of them not so pretty.”

Scrimgeour coughed for a moment, grunting as he ran his hand over his mouth. He froze when his hand came away with thin streams of blood, the man looking over at Percy. Percy stood and held up the glass that the man had drank from. “For instance.” He sniffed at the glass then placed it down. “I’ve always told people I’m not that great of a potioneer or spellcaster. Only one of those things is a lie.”

“You-” Scrimgeour choked on his own breath, clawing at his throat. He began rummaging through his desk drawers, only to let out a feeble noise when he couldn’t find the small case of antidotes he kept in his top left drawer. “You little-”

“Trust me, Rufus,” Percy whispered as he moved to stand beside the man. “This is the best way. The most merciful one. You don’t want to know what horrors Yaxley has been dreaming up for you.”

He waited until the man was dead before he threw the small paper sachet he had used to carry the poison into the fireplace. He carefully stepped out of the office, staring at the bustle of the offices before he closed his eyes tightly and let out a long, low breath. 

“Someone call Yaxley and Thicknesse,” He ordered the nearest employee. “The Minister is dead.”

* * *

_Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry, was today appointed Headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. “I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values”-_

“Ahem,” A familiar voice spoke up and Percy folded down the edge of his paper to look up at the little white kitten brooch on the woman’s breast right next to an ornate green locket carved from peridot. “Mister Weasley, where is Minister Thicknesse?”

“He’s in a meeting,” Percy said simply, staring at the woman as he carefully tucked away the paper. It was an old copy of the prophet, but it had a rather dashing photograph of Severus in front of Hogwarts’ gates on it and he had read the article often enough that he could probably recite it in his sleep. “In his office.”

“Yes, I can surmise that, Mister Weasley,” Dolores Umbridge scowled at him and Percy arched a brow. “The door won’t open for me.”

“Then I’m to assume that you are not meant to be in that meeting,” Percy placed his paper aside. “What business do you have with the Minister? You’re not on his schedule today.”

“If you must know the Minister wanted to oversee some of today’s interrogations personally.” Umbridge straightened her back even more and Percy arched a brow at her. 

“The Minister is otherwise occupied right now with more important matters,” Percy tilted his head. “Why don’t you get Mafalda to help you as usual?”

“And where is she?” Dolores asked, glaring down at Percy. 

“Do I look like a trace?” Percy scoffed, straightening and standing. “Fine, I’ll help with the note taking until Mafalda gets found.” He glanced over at Travers, sitting at a desk and picking his teeth. “Travers, when Mafalda gets in send her down to the courts.” The man grunted uselessly and Percy decided to leave it at that.

“You’re quite an uppity little thing, aren’t you?” Dolores scowled as they walked through the bustling halls of the Ministry.

“You see, Dolores, I feel at this point that I’ve earned it,” Percy looked down at the woman beside him. “Considering I’ve outlasted your precious Cornelius, Scrimgeour, and at this rate I’ll likely outlast Thicknesse.” God, she really was dressed head to toe in pink, even her stockings were a noxious ballerina pink, and the peridot locket clashed with her pink knitted kitten-shaped stole. “I’m nigh impossible to get rid of and if you try to rid of me yourself you’ll find quite a lot of rather unpleasant people performing a variety of unpleasant spells upon you.”

Dolores glared up at him and Percy arched a brow down at her. The elevator dinged and both of them looked up. “Ah, Albert, Mafalda.” Umbridge looked at the two, and both of them looked startled, frozen in place. Percy’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the two Ministry employees. 

Something was off about them. When he and Umbridge stepped into the elevator, Dolores chattering on and on about the various interrogations that were to be had that day, Percy took a deep breath in the air. He froze at the familiar, sour smell of polyjuice potion. 

“Aren’t you getting out, Albert?” Umbridge asked and Percy watched as the man stiffly stepped out, not even turning his head to look at Dolores. The doors to the elevator rattled closed and Percy looked over at Mafalda, his green eyes intensely staring at the side of the woman’s head as she avoided his gaze. 

“Are you quite well, Mafalda?” He asked, amiably, resting his hand upon her shoulder. 

“Yes, quite alright,” The woman whispered meekly, and Percy would have recognized Hermione Granger’s voice anywhere. 

_Fuck._

They made their way to the courtrooms and Umbridge gave him a scowl. “It’s quite alright, Mister Weasley, we can handle things from here.”

“Why spoil my fun?” Percy asked curiously as he followed the two women, their three sets of shoes clicking decidedly on the polished floors. “I’ve always wondered which was more soul-sucking, Dolores: You or the Dementors.”

Percy watched as Dolores scoffed and waved her wand, producing a purring cat patronus as they entered the courtrooms. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

A Patronus was difficult to produce even under ideal circumstances, much less without a dozen looming Dementors swirling mere feet over the group, the entire room chilling to the bone. Dolores’ patronus offered no comfort and Hermione, wearing Mafalda’s concerned face, didn’t look capable of conjuring a patronus. Percy carefully drew his wand and thought of Severus lifting him off his feet in Spinner’s End, spinning him around the bedroom until Percy was laughing so hard he was gasping for breath. 

His little bat fluttered around both himself and Hermione, offering them a small amount of comfort and warmth, brushing against their faces. It wouldn’t last. Percy was not a skilled caster, and when the first victim of Umbridge’s hate was dragged into the courtroom by Yaxley and his goons, the tiny bat fizzled out to nothing and Percy was left feeling colder than ever before. 

These trials were a farce, in as much as every trial by an inept organization was a farce. Percy watched as Dolores was handed wand after wand and asked who the muggleborns stole the wands from. No matter the evidence, no matter the fact that they showed strong magical ability, that they were graduates of Hogwarts, or even those few that could provide receipts of the purchase of their wand from Ollivander’s. They were all guilty from the moment they entered Dolores Umbridge’s kangaroo court. 

“Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?” 

The woman sitting before them looked startled, as if she had just been dragged from her breakfast with no warning. “P-pardon?” She asked, staring up at the Ministry officials that surrounded her. Percy’s heart went out to the poor frightened woman, but he kept his expression bored and quietly distant. 

“You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole? Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?” Umbridge asked if she was speaking to a particularly slow child. 

Missus Cattermole sobbed and looked around. “I don’t know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!”

Undeterred by the fear and cries of the woman, Dolores continued. “Mother to Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred Cattermole?”

The poor woman nodded, shaking as she sobbed. “They’re frightened, they think I might not come home-"

Yaxley scoffed at the woman from where he lounged beside the entrance to the courtroom. “Spare us. The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies.”

“You currently still live in 27 Chiselhurst Gardens, Great Tolling Evesham?” Dolores continued, as if Yaxley hadn’t spoken at all.

Percy looked up when he heard footsteps, raising a brow at the sight of Albert Runcorn with hand fisted in the sleeve of a soaking wet Reginald Cattermole. The man was a kind man, and had a kind face. He reminded Percy of Arthur, if the Weasley father had decided to keep the mustache he had back in Percy’s childhood. “It looks like they’ve located your husband, Missus Cattermole.”

“Reg!” The woman looked relieved as she reached out to her husband, clasping her hands with his. 

“Thank you, Albert,” Dolores said dismissively and Percy glared at her for a moment before he looked back down at the couple before the court. “Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?” Dolores called out again, as if the woman was so stupid that she didn’t know who was on trial.

“Yes?” The woman whispered, staring up at Umbridge, her eyes flickering briefly to Yaxley while her husband clutched at her hand tightly.

“A wand was taken from you on your arrival here, is this that wand.” Dolores held the wand up for the court to see and the woman nodded, breathing deeply as she stared at her wand.

“Yes,” Missus Cattermole whispered. “Cherry 8 3/4 inches, unicorn hair core.”

Dolores nodded and placed the wand down, making a note on the folder before her. “Would you please tell the court from which witch or wizard you took this wand?”

“I didn’t take it.” The woman shook her head and her husband grasped at her hand more tightly, offering comfort. “I got it at Diagon Alley, at Ollivander’s when I was eleven…” There were tears in her eyes and Percy felt his heart ache as he stared at the poor woman sniffling and sobbing. “ _It_ chose _me_.”

“You’re lying.” Umbridge said clearly, as if she was fully capable of reading minds and seeing the truth of things beyond what others could see. “Wands only choose witches and you are _not_ a witch.” Percy’s eyes flicked to Albert Runcorn as the man prowled around the edge of the courtroom, glaring up at Dolores. There was something off about the man, beyond that he was so close to becoming a Death Eater that he would likely be approached by Yaxley soon enough.

“But I am!” Missus Cattermole sobbed, looking up at her husband desperately. “Tell them, Reg, tell them what I am!” But Reginald said nothing, mutely looking up at Percy as if he had any true power here.

The sound of a wand sliding into someone’s fingers echoed in the room and Umbridge’s eyes flicked down to Runcorn. “What on earth are you doing, Albert?” 

“You’re lying, Dolores.” The man spoke in a voice that was not Runcorn’s and Percy’s eyes widened as he realized that the smell of polyjuice was not just coming from Mafalda. “And one mustn’t tell lies. _Stupefy_!”

Percy dove aside, watching as Hermione grabbed the peridot locket from around Dolores’ neck. He grabbed at her arm and snarled, “Where are you going, Mafalda?”

“Let go of me!” She shouted, and Percy scrambled after her. 

“Yaxley, Dementors!” Percy shouted over his shoulder at the stunned man, chasing after the group that was racing towards the elevators. He scrambled and reached through the bars, grabbing a hold of Hermione’s clothing, dragging her close enough to whisper in her ear. “Life isn’t like homework, Hermione.” He hissed, giving her a rough shake. “You can’t just write a report on it and turn it in and get feedback.”

The Dementors were racing after them and Percy released the woman, as her Polyjuice faded, turning to draw his wand and summon his patronus, to defend himself.

He thought of Severus’ rare smiles, of him telling him word for word the tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi, and his small bat swirled from his wand, chasing away Dementors long enough for Percy to return to the courtroom, hoping beyond hope that Yaxley had suffered a Dementor’s kiss in his absence.

* * *

Hogwarts’ anti-apparition wards were still strong, and with every floo in the castle monitored there was no means for Percy to get to Severus without raising questions. For Severus to leave the grounds of Hogwarts was even more difficult with the Carrows skulking about the castle. There were no clandestine meetings now. Everything had to be controlled and purposeful and brief.

Percy had learned that when an opportunity presented itself for any of his own plans to come to fruition to take the opportunity with both hands.

“It would seem that Percival’s sister is causing trouble at Hogwarts,” Voldemort whispered in the Malfoy parlour after a fire call with Severus. “She should be reminded of where she is in our new world order.”

“Let me see,” Percy stepped forward, looking at the Dark Lord quietly even as Lucius and Bellatrix looked at him warily. “The Carrows can do what they please to her, but I want to see the family favourite suffer.”

A long moment, a pause, and then Voldemort’s inhuman mouth curled into a grin. “Go on, then, retribution is always sweetest when experienced for the first time.” He gestured with one of four hands to the fireplace and it glowed green. 

Percy stepped forward, spoke clearly, “Headmaster Severus Snape’s Office.” And stepped through. 

The entire room had been redone. Instead of Dumbledore’s collection of shiny trinkets and purple curtains flowing over open windows, Severus’ version of the office was a fortress. Everything that could possibly remind anyone of the late Headmaster was stripped away. There were portraits on the walls still, and Albus’ own stood proudly over the shoulder of the Headmaster’s chair, but the shelves and cabinets were now lined with tomes, many of which Percy recognized to be some of Severus’ darker and more deadly collection. The curtains were black, draped down the wall, and there was not a speck of sparkle or light to be found in the austere surroundings. Ginny was sitting across from Severus as the man sat at his desk, along with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, their eyes turned to Percy and for a moment there was fear, then rage. 

“Traitor,” Ginny hissed, and Percy glanced up, seeing Alecto standing in the corner of the room, watching the group silently. 

“There is no shame in choosing the winning side,” Percy placed his hand on the back of Severus’ chair. “I’ve been sent here to assess whether or not you have learned your lesson, Gin.”

“And what lesson is that?” Her eyes blazed viciously and Percy felt pride swelling in his chest. She had always been stronger than him, had always been more willing to fight for what she believed. Her rage was a comfort now. “How to torture muggles? How to sniff out a blood traitor?”

Percy’s heart ached as he drew his wand. “Alecto.” He called out to the woman, who smirked at him and folded her arms. “My sister and I require a chance to catch up. Please take Mister Longbottom and Miss Lovegood elsewhere.”

“Have fun, Weasel,” Alecto cackled as she grasped the other two students, hauling them out of the office.

Severus was silent as he watched both Percy and Ginny stare at one another, the two Weasleys having a silent battle of wills. Percy couldn’t hurt her. Not really. His mother’s heart would break if she knew a fraction of the things he had done, she’d never forgive him if he hurt Ginny. 

Instead, he held his wand out inches from her face and whispered a soft, “ _Imperio_.” Her eyes glazed and Ginny’s face turned to a neutral expression. He guided her to pick up a piece of parchment and Severus’ quill. 

“What are you doing?” Severus asked, curious. 

“Sending a note to Ron and the others.” Percy whispered as he watched Ginny write the note. “I hope they get it.”

_Sometimes they are alive._

He prayed to the Green God and the Triple Goddess that that was enough as he rolled up the piece of parchment. “The scroll case?”

Severus slid it out of his pocket, holding the simple black and silver case out to Percy. Percy slipped the parchment inside and closed the case. He paused, then opened it again and the scrap of parchment was gone. He looked at Ginny, who was still staring blankly into the distance.

“If she’s unscathed the Carrows will know something is wrong.” Severus whispered, and Percy squeezed his eyes shut. He knew that Severus was right. 

He drew his wand and aimed it at Ginny, his hand shaking as he tried to think of a spell he could forgive himself for casting on his sister. “ _Segmentum_!” A small cut slashed across the girl’s cheek and in an instant Percy knelt before Ginny, cupping her soft face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Gin.” He whispered, staring at her face, still absent under the control of the Imperius curse. “I’m so sorry.” He swiped his thumb over her cheek, smearing blood before he held the wand to her jaw. “ _Ferrumtuam_.” The girl’s head snapped back and a dark bruise spread instantly over her jaw, neck, and cheek, thankfully not shattering any bone. 

After a few moments, Percy lowered his head to his sister’s knees, sobbing softly as he shook and clutched at her robes, begging forgiveness. Severus didn’t say anything, but his hand was soft on the back of Percy’s neck, soothing over too-hot skin and sweat-soaked curls. 

“You need to leave, Percy.” The man whispered, and Percy did his best to compose himself, drawing in shuddering breaths before he stood and wiped his eyes. His tears stained Ginny’s skirt over her knee, but Percy didn’t bother cleaning it up. He hoped she understood what had happened. Severus turned Percy’s face towards his own and gently swiped his thumbs over the younger man’s cheeks, murmuring a spell too quiet for Percy to catch. “There. Now you look presentable.”

Percy fixed his expression into something bland and cruel, taking a deep breath, before he turned to Ginny’s still, cursed form. “ _Finite Incantatum_.” Ginny blinked, startled, and instantly rubbed at her jaw, flinching at the feeling of the swelling and brusing. Percy sneered down at his sister and jerked his head towards the door. “Get out of my sight.”

The girl’s lower lip trembled, and Percy tried to ignore the betrayal in her eyes as she turned, stumbling towards the door in shock. It would have been one thing, Percy was sure, for Severus himself to hurt her. There was no love lost between the recalcitrant Professor and the student body. Ginny probably didn’t see Percy’s actions as the mercy that they were meant to be. He hoped she understood in due time.

“Why were they here?” Percy whispered after she had left, the door clicking shut behind her robes. 

“They tried to steal the sword of Gryffindor.” Severus said as he sat in the chair behind the Headmaster’s desk, his fingers brushing over a bowl of lemon drops. Percy smiled at the candy, but didn’t take any. Severus hated them, but they had been Dumbledore’s favourite. “The Sorting Hat wouldn’t give it up. Bellatrix is under the impression that she managed to get it into her vault, but the one she has is a fake.”

“How so?” Percy asked, curiously, staring at his lover with a frown. “How could she even hope to be given it?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor may reveal itself to any worthy Gryffindor student,” Severus shrugged. “I had a fake commissioned when I came to the school, modeled after pictures in books.”

Percy nodded before he rested his hand on Severus’ arm. “What do we do?”

“The only thing we can do,” Severus sighed and rubbed at his eyes before he dropped his hand to cover Percy’s. “We wait and hope that Potter and his friends can save the day.”

“And when that doesn’t work?”

“We pray to whatever gods might hear our pleas for a miracle.”

* * *

Percy knocked on the old, peeling door of the witch’s home. Godric’s Hollow was a small town, with only the main street to walk upon, guiding through the small sleepy town from shops to houses and then further down to farms. It had been difficult to find and even more difficult to apparate into without knowing exactly what he was looking for. 

The door opened easily enough and the old witch who answered looked up at him curiously. “Hello?” She had a confused look on her face, frowning up at him, and Percy gave her his most charming Weasley smile.

“Miss Bagshot?” He held out his hand to her slowly, showing he meant no harm to her. “My name is Percival Evans, my sister Lily lives next door?”

“Evans?” The woman blinked up at him in confusion before her face lit up. “Oh! Lily Potter!”

“Yes, her married name,” Percival gave a smile to the demented old bat. “May I come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” The woman shuffled backwards, letting Percy in, gesturing him over to a room furnished with numerous worn old antiques. There was a mountain of mail next to the door as well as a neat stack of Daily Prophets that had clearly been untouched. Bathilda Bagshot shuffled through the house back to the kitchen, adjusting her numerous shawls as she placed the kettle of water on the stove and lit the pilot light with her wand. Percy placed his bag on the floor beside the table and turned to help.

“I can do that,” Percy offered when the woman stood on her tip toes to grasp at a tin of tea. He reached up and grabbed the tin and carefully scooped out three spoonfuls of the loose leaf tea. One for each person, plus one for the pot. 

“Your sister is a lovely woman,” Bathilda hummed as she watched Percy work. “But she cannot make a proper cup of tea to save her life.” 

Percy gave a weak laugh at that. “Don’t let her hear you say that, she might take personal offense and duel you.” He sat at the table and crossed his legs, letting the toe of his boots catch upon the edge of his bag, flicking it open beneath the table.

“Oh, I know she would,” Bathilda laughed, setting out a neat little plate of biscuits on the kitchen table before she shuffled back to the cabinet to retrieve two teacups. They were old fashioned ones, purple on the outside but clean white on the inside with the various tasseomancy symbols along the rim, the planetary symbols, below that within the body, and then the saucer had the zodiacs for the reader to place the handle in the proper alignment for the person whose future was being predicted. 

“Do you like them?” The woman asked, smiling at Percy. “They were what I used to learn tasseomancy at Hogwarts, when I graduated I begged Professor Veil to give me one and she gifted me the whole set.”

“They’re lovely.” Percy traced the gold rim of the cup with his finger before he forced a smile onto his face and placed the cup down. “Thank you for having me for tea, Miss Bagshot,” Percy said as he sat in the woman’s small, cramped home. She seemed genuinely happy to have anyone to speak to, and Percy felt guilty beyond all measure with the knowledge of what he was about to do to her.

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Mister Evans, so how is that sister of yours, Lily?”

He was taking advantage of an old, demented woman who didn’t even know what fucking year it was. If there was a hell, Percy would surely burn within it. He didn’t flinch when he felt his bag fall to its side on the floor, smiling at Miss Bagshot as the woman nibbled at a biscuit.

“She’s quite alright,” Percy smiled and sipped from the delicate cup in his hand. It was a herbal mixture and he took a deep breath of the steam wafting up from the cup. “Do I detect peppermint?” Another deep breath. “Peppermint, wormword, nettle… And…” Another breath, and then the taste of it hit him. “Moly?”

“You have quite the nose on you, young man,” Miss Bagshot smiled brightly at him. “Most people can’t put their finger on that last one.” The woman smiled and took a sip of her own tea. “A mixture of my own making, it protects against enchantments, aids with the health as well.” 

“I see,” Percy ran his thumb over the golden edge of the cup before he placed it down, taking a deep breath and picked up a biscuit to nibble on, trying to avoid his task.

“Is the baby due yet? I saw her waddling around the shops last week and she looks well fit to burst!” The elderly woman lifted her own shaking hand to her lips and Percy cast a soft stabilizing spell on the teacup so that the woman might more easily sip at her drink. 

“The baby was born just a few days ago, actually,” Percy cleared his throat, guilt cloying his throat and clogging his mouth as he watched the woman’s eyes light up. “Which is why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering if you might be able to watch the baby for a few days while Lily recovers?” Percy hated this. He hated the deception, but the woman had to be willing, had to be amiable and friendly. “Only for a short while, I promise, just until Lily is back on her feet.”

“Of course, Mister Evans, anything for your lovely sister!”

Percy stood, smiling down at the woman even though he wanted to scream as tears slid down his face. “Thank you, Miss Bagshot.” He drew his wand and aimed it at the wide, trusting eyes of the old witch. “ _Effigia Immortuos_.”

She didn’t even blink or move as she died. She didn’t even know it had happened. It was a much more merciful death than she would have had otherwise. Her body merely slumped to the side, eyes wide as the spell preserved them, preserved her body. Nagini hissed from the floor, slithering up Percy’s leg, then his waist, until her great, scaled head rested beside his shoulder, peering down at the body. 

“Not yet,” Percy whispered. “There’s… There’s still more.” The snake gave him a look that was far too intelligent to be merely animal, but no sound came from her. Percy bent and grasped the arms of the woman, guiding her to stand. He hated this. Hated himself. He aimed his wand at the woman and closed his eyes. “ _Eviscera_.”

Blood spattered over his face as the woman’s throat was cut, and then from sternum to groin, bones cracking open, guts spilling free onto the floor. Nagini hissed and slithered along Percy’s outstretched arm, the weight of her enough that it made Percy’s entire body ache with the pain of holding her outstretched. In moments she coiled within the body of the old witch and Percy let out a long breath as he watched her settle herself. 

He cast a few stitching spells, trying to pull the woman’s skin over the snake within, before he sighed and did his best to merely wrap her in as many shawls and layers of clothing as he could before he cast one last spell. “ _Serpensa Dominum Pupa_.” 

In a moment Bathilda’s arms began to move and Percy watched as Nagini turned the woman’s head to look down at her hands, then shuffled her feet. She was stiff and inhuman, but it would suit an old woman. Percy waved his wand and the innards of Bathilda Bagshot were swept into the pantry. He worked his jaw and cast a spell to transfigure the canned food into a variety of rats and toads and other tasty things that Nagini enjoyed. 

“Don’t eat through it all at once,” He ordered her, sounding more like his mother than he cared to. “I’ll be back after Christmas, understand?”

The snake gave a soft hiss, moving Miss Bagshot’s lips in the gesture. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Percy took a long moment before he bent and picked up his bag from the floor. He hesitated before he carefully packed the tea set into the bag and turned to make his way to the front door. The mountain of mail tumbled against his legs as he bumped into the side table and after a moment Percys sighed and scowled. “Fucking hell…” He began to stack up the mail again, pausing when he felt a heavy book and recognized Rita Skeeter’s scrawl on the brown paper wrapping. He tore open the paper and frowned at the cover of _The Life And Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , opening the paperback cover to reveal the first page had a scrawled message upon it. 

_Dear Batty, Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book; hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita._

“Loathesome little insect,” Percy hissed as he closed the book and tossed it back onto the sidetable. 

He ignored the voice in the back of his head that whispered, _well then what does that make you?_

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was practically passed out in the cellar and Percy wondered if Narcissa knew, or cared, that her husband was there. He frowned, wondering if it was a moral duty to wake the man, or if he’d be better off just… Bricking up the entire cellar and leaving the man to rot. Instead he kicked the man’s leg, jolting Lucius out of his stupor, clutching at his half-empty glass of wine as the liquid sloshed over his sleeve.

“Looks like you’ve taken up a new vice,” Percy grabbed a bottle at random from the cool stone walls. The label was faded and peeling. “What’s this one?”

“That’s… A 1380 Chateau la Droiturière et de la Barre… Very rare.” The man grunted and got the distant look in his eye that meant he was about to recite something rather boring and interesting only to the excessively wealthy. “Marion la Droiturière and Margot de la Barre were burned at the stake for crafting a love potion using some of Marion’s menstrual blood and the wine from that very batch. Not that bottle, unfortunately, but it is said that the wine has similar qualities of a true love potion all on its own.” Lucius explained as he blinked up at Percy drunkenly. “It’s priceless.”

Percy uncorked the wine with his teeth and took a swig directly from the mouth.

“Oh, that’s good.” He murmured, leaning against the wall and chugging down more of the wine as if it were a cheap beer at the pub. “That’s really good.” Percy wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“You’re a philistine,” Lucius scoffed and Percy raised a brow down at the man. 

“In comparison to you? A philanderer and now a drunk?” Percy kicked the man’s ankle and Lucius jumped, trying to save the last of his glass of wine, guzzling it down greedily before Percy could send it splashing down onto the floor. “Does Narcissa even know where you are right now?” 

“Don’t speak my wife’s name.”

Percy laughed and it sounded unhinged as he took another long drink of the priceless historical artifact in his hand. Young Percival Ignatius Weasley was mortified at his behaviour and callousness. Present Percival Ignatius Weasley was angry. 

“Narcissa!” He howled up the spiraling stair of the cellar towards the kitchen. “Narcissa! Your husband is down here! Come look at this drunken slob you married!”

“That’s enough!” Lucius tried to tear the bottle from Percy’s grip, but Percy’s free hand swung around, slapping across the man’s face viciously. 

“Don’t touch me!” Percy hissed, his wand suddenly in his hand even though he couldn’t recall drawing it from its sheath. “Don’t you ever touch me again you foul, loathesome, inbred _creature_!”

“You live in my house, insult me, abuse my possessions-” Lucius was cut off by Percy’s wand aimed between his eyes, the drunk ginger sauntering forward as he carelessly dropped the bottle onto the ground, shattering it and sloshing glass and wine across his boots. 

“All of this is _your_ fault, Lucius,” Percy whispered, staring at silver eyes as he stumbled forward. “All of it. If you hadn’t given my sister that _fucking_ diary then none of this would have happened.” Lucius’ back thudded against the cellar wall and Percy kept his wand raised as he pressed himself chest to chest with the other man. “I could kill you down here.” He licked his lips, tasting wine as he leaned forward and whispered into the man’s ear, feeling his heart pounding like a hummingbird as long, unkempt hair tickled his nose. “It would be so damn _easy_.” 

“Weasley-”

“Shut up!” Percy shouted and the man froze against him, his breaths stilled even as his heart tried to rattle free of his ribcage. “Just shut the fuck up for once in your life, Lucius. I’m thinking.”

“Percival,” A low drawl called out and Percy tore himself away from Lucius, turning to stare up the stairs of the cellar at Voldemort’s looming form. “Is that any way to treat our gracious host?” He asked with that inhuman mouth pulled into a semblance of a smirk. 

“Of course not, My Lord,” Percy pulled back, careful not to step on shattered glass or slip on fine wine. “Lucius and I were merely having a discussion.”

“Be that as it may, I have a task for you,” Voldemort gestured for Percy to follow him up the stairs. “Come along.”

It took every ounce of will and self control to not sway or stumble as he followed the monster above him, leaving Lucius to stand in the cellar. As they made their way through the winding corridors of the Malfoy Manor, Percy couldn’t help but wonder what on earth Voldemort wanted him to do, what new horror had been conjured up in the man’s horrible brain.

“Please, please, I don’t understand,” A muggle woman was sniffling and looking up at Bellatrix and Rowle as they taunted and cackled over her. “Please, where am I?” Her eyes fixed on Percy, who made the mistake of hesitating as he stepped inside, and immediately she shuffled over to him, terrified and begging in what Percy could only describe as distraught gibberish.

Voldemort’s hand slid over Percy’s shoulder and his breath brushed over the back of the younger man’s neck. “Regrettably, for this exercise you won’t be able to torment her,” The man drew his wand and Percy watched as he circled around the muggle woman who was screaming and hiding her face in Percy’s pant leg.

Bellatrix and Rowle were jeering, but Percy couldn’t hear them as he watched Voldemort. “What are you going to do to her?” He asked quietly, suddenly feeling much more sober.

“Harry Potter is a unique case. The boy who lived, connected soul to soul with me,” The man looked up at Percy with a smirk. “You are a similarly interesting case, but the connection is not strong enough. And so, to make the connection stronger, requires sacrifice.”

Percy bit his tongue, his mind whirling frantically, like a hurricane contained in a teacup. This wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. Not when what had saved Harry Potter had been love.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

The green light flashed and the woman dropped dead, her head landing on Percy’s boot, and Percy let in a sharp inhale as he stared at Voldemort, trembling.

Nothing had changed. 

“What a disappointment,” The man gave a frown. “Bellatrix! Call Greyback and Scabior.” He looked at Percy with a smirk and those blood red eyes bore into Percy’s. “This sacrifice might call for more blood.”

* * *

It was a risk, but one that Percy was willing to take. Malfoy Manor was very rarely still. Voldemort slept often, like a great lounge lizard, but that didn’t mean that the house was _still_. Death Eaters and Snatchers came and went often, there was always at least two insomniacs wandering the halls to cause idle destruction. Beyond that there were constantly house elves moving about the Manor, carefully correcting, cleaning, and repairing the place with soft pops in and out of rooms like distance fireworks. Percy often would sit in the library and find no less than four people wandering in and out every hour.

But sometimes there was stillness and silence. Sometimes there were golden opportunities where Percy could sneak into Lucius’ study and whisper his destination to the floo. Sometimes he could escape.

“The Office of Headmaster Severus Snape.”

Stepping into the room he let out a sigh of relief that the Carrows were not there, no doubt tormenting first years like the bullies that they were. 

“It’s very late,” Severus whispered from the chair behind the grand Headmaster’s desk. The entire room was cast in darkness and Percy had almost missed his lover’s shadowy form. 

“You said you needed my help,” Percy moved to stand in front of Severus, staring down at the man. He was paler than normal, as if all joy had been drained from him, all life. Percy’s palms slid over the man’s jaw, over his cheeks, before Percy leaned in and kissed him. “What do you need, Severus?” He asked, kneeling before his lover and looking up into those wonderous dark eyes he loved so much. He hadn’t seen Severus in weeks and that had been so painfully brief, frought with emotion, that he couldn’t just bask in the man’s presence. 

Severus clenched his fist for a moment and then cupped at Percy’s jaw, drawing him up for a kiss as the man bent at the waist to meet him halfway. “Just… Give me one moment.”

It was something that Percy was more than happy to give. They stayed like that, Percy’s hands drawing Severus’ shoulders down as his own face was cradled in those clever potion-stained fingers. Every moment now felt like borrowed time, as if any second it could be ripped away from them. When Severus did finally pull back Percy stole another kiss as he did so.

“The Sword is gone,” Severus whispered and Percy frowned. 

“What?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor,” Severus stood and Percy followed, his heart pounding as the man lifted the portrait of Albus Dumbledore from the wall and revealed the hole that he had carefully carved to store the sword. “First the Ministry, then your sister and her friends, and now it’s just… Vanished.” 

“What do we do?” Percy asked, panic rising in his voice. “Bellatrix doesn’t have the real one, does she? We were so careful!” Had all of his detailed work tricked both of them as well as Bellatrix? “I’m going to be sick.” He sank into the Headmaster’s chair and Severus knelt before him, stroking at Percy’s cheek gently as he shushed him like a child. “What do we do? It’s the only thing we know of that can destroy the horcruxes.”

Severus was silent, stroking at Percy’s hands before he whispered. “There’s… One more thing we could try.” The man was blurred by tears, but Percy could see him moving to the shelf where the Sorting Hat was kept. He grasped at the worn folds of the brim and then carefully carried it to Percy, placing it on its side on the desk. “I am a Slytherin. It was never destined for me to be the bearer of the Sword of Gryffindor. It may only present itself to a true Gryffindor in an hour of real need.”

It took a few moments for the words to sink in and Percy stared at his lover, then at the hat, then back at his lover. “I… No…” he shook his head. “There must be someone else. Anyone else. Ginny or Neville or - or Remus. Call Remus, explain it to him!” Percy stood and paced away from the desk. “I’m not… I’m not worthy. I’m a traitor and I’ve… I’ve done such horrible things.” He turned to face Severus. “I’ve betrayed the trust of everyone I’ve ever loved. I’ve killed people! I’m…” Percy sobbed. “I’m a horrible faithless coward.”

In an instant the man’s hands were framing Percy’s face, his dark eyes blazing as they stared down at Percy. “You are the single bravest person I’ve ever met. Not because you have an absence of fear or darkness, but because you press on in the face of it. You have lied to the face of the Dark Lord for years now. You possessed a piece of his soul. You stole a Horcrux from right under his nose. You’ve been helping Potter and his friends to the detriment and threat to your own life.” Severus grasped Percy’s jaw and forced their eyes to meet. “You can do this. I know you can.” His free hand reached out, grasping the hat, and holding it between them. “You are a mongoose thrown into a den of snakes and you will come out victorious.”

Percy let out a shaky breath, staring into those dark eyes for a moment before he closed his own green gaze. 

_I would give anything, I swear I would, to be worthy of this._

He reached into the hat, expecting to feel the ragged taper, but instead his hand reached deeper, like reaching into the extension charm of his own bag. 

_You made me a Gryffindor for a reason._

He took a deep breath and pressed his arm in up to the shoulder.

_I need to give this sword to Harry Potter._

His fingers grasped at something cold and solid and when he pulled the sword, glistening silver with rubies the size of eggs embedded in the hilt, his heart nearly stopped. In the silence Severus was staring as well, his hand on Percy’s waist as they both took in the priceless artifact. 

“What now?” He asked, looking at the older man. “We don’t have the first idea of where they are.”

Severus worried his jaw before he dragged Percy to a cabinet that lined one of the walls. He unlocked it with a wave of his hand and within rested a golden framed mirror, the glass a pitch black that seemed to swallow all light, like a black hole. 

Thin, pale fingers pressed to the glass and Severus whispered, “Beings who see, beings who say… Aid me in this task, I pray: Where Harry Potter Wanders, let me see. As I will, so mote it be.”

The glass rippled under his touch as Severus drew his fingers across the black surface, and in a moment there was a forest and Percy suddenly _knew_ without a shadow of a doubt that it was the Forest of Dean. He had never been there, but the mirror showed it nonetheless and Percy knew it deep in his soul all the same.

Severus took Percy’s hand in his and they were apparating, squeezing and stretching until they landed near a lake in the forest. 

“Where do we put it?” Percy asked as he rubbed his arms in the chill and looked around. 

A pause, then Severus aimed his wand at the frozen lake. “ _Diffindo_.” He carefully pried the sword from Percy’s hand and lowered it into the water. Once it rested at the bottom, like something from an Arthurian legend. The two of them stepped off the lake surface and Severus waved his wand over the water. “ _Indutae_.” The lake froze, as if it had never been disturbed before, a fine layer of frost covering the surface to match the surrounding surface. As if they had never been there.

Severus looked at Percy, the two of them hiding behind a tree quietly. They seemed to have the same thought as they drew their wands in unison. 

“ _Expecto Patronum_.”

Percy’s small bat fluttered from his wand tip, and Severus’ own patronus burst forth, leaping across the snow alongside Percy’s bat. 

“A mongoose?” Percy asked with a small smile as he looked up at the man. Severus himself looked shocked, staring at the patronus, before he looked down at Percy. “What?”

Pale, cold hands grasped his face and equally cold lips kissed Percy deeply, the man holding him close as Percy sank his fingers into Severus’ long, dark hair. 

“I love you,” Severus whispered and Percy kissed him back deeply.

“I love you too.”

Footsteps broke the silence between them and Severus peered around the tree trunk. When he saw Harry following the two patronuses as they circled over the ice he grasped Percy’s hand. Percy turned to look back at his lover, only to freeze at the sight of familiar ginger hair right over the man’s shoulder. 

Ron was staring right at them. 

Percy felt his heart pounding double time as he slowly lifted his finger to his lips and wrapped an arm around Severus. 

They apparated away and Percy hoped that Ron understood what they were trying to do.

* * *

“Come on, Draco!” Bellatrix’s voice was vicious and demanding and Percy wondered what on earth the old bat had gotten into her bonnet now. “Tell us if it’s him!”

“What’s happened to his face?” Draco asked and Percy stepped into the main parlour. 

“What happened to who’s face?” He crossed his arms as he stared at the group, his eyes narrowing to mask his shock at the tableau before him. 

Scabior, Greyback, and a few others were holding the Sword of Gryffindor, Hermione, and Ron. There was another young man, kneeling on the ground with his face swollen beyond recognition and Percy would bet Galleons to Knuts that it was Harry Potter. 

“We think it’s something he picked up in the forest,” Scabior said as he leaned against an ornate velvet chair, getting muck and dirt all over it. 

“Come now, Draco, if you can identify him then we will be greatly rewarded,” Lucius whispered to his son, his shaking hand clutching a glass of wine. 

“And if you identify him wrong and draw the Dark Lord here for no good reason then he’ll slaughter you all without a second thought,” Percy checked his nails, picking at imaginary dirt underneath one. “Tick tock, Draco, time is wasting.”

“I… I can’t be sure,” Draco whispered, looking away from the swollen face of the young man on the floor. A swollen face that was slowly recovering from the stinging jinx thrown at it. 

“Bellatrix?” Percy called out casually, looking over at Greyback. “Doesn’t that look familiar?”

Like a bomb Bellatrix went off and was screaming at Hermione, demanding to know where she got the sword, if it was the real one. Percy grasped Ron’s arm as Bellatrix shrieked, “We’re gonna have a little chat, girl to girl!”

Percy dragged the two boys down the hallway, to the dungeons. “Wormtail, move!” He ordered and the man fumbled the door to the dungeons open. Percy threw the two boys in and scowled at them. “Leave us.” He ordered Wormtail.

“Are you sure that’s wise-”

“The more you speak to me the more I regret not killing you when you were my pet,” Percy snapped, glaring at the man until he scampered away. If he still had an actual tail it would likely be between his legs. When they were suitably alone Percy turned back to the barred door. 

Harry’s hands reached through without any regard for his own safety, Percy easily stepping back to avoid the grasping of demanding fingers. “You told him to kill Dumbledore!” Harry shouted through the bars.

“Keep your voice down!” Percy hissed. “It was Severus or him and the doddering old fool was dying anyway.”

“How could you say that? How could you even think to put a price on someone’s life?” Harry demanded, his green eyes narrowed as they glared up at Percy.

“People are merely a means to an end, Potter.” Percy could hear footsteps above.

“You don’t really believe that.” Harry whispered, disbelief on his face.

“Dumbledore was already dying!” Percy spat, glaring at the brat before him. “The killing curse was a mercy compared to the one that was eating him alive.” He stepped back from the bars and whispered. “Dumbledore was playing a dangerous game with Severus and Severus came out on top. It is as simple as that.”

Footsteps sounded from above them and Percy turned, glaring at Pettigrew as the man bowed his head at Percy and whispered, “Madam Lestrange wants the goblin.”

Percy scoffed and drew his wand, aiming it at the door. “Retrieve him, I’ll keep an eye on these miscreants.” Once the goblin and Pettigrew were gone Percy looked down at the two boys, glaring at them. “You’re so used to having everything handed to you, did you think it was all _fate_? Did you think that it was _free will_? Dumbledore was pulling your strings, he still is even from beyond the grave. Your little suicide mission proves that.” He stepped back and hissed. “Well now you’re on your own and no one is coming to save you.”

Returning to the main hallway, Percy snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared immediately. “Master Weasley, what can Teaspoon do for you?” The small elf asked, her wide, round eyes staring up at him. 

“Find Dobby, tell him that Harry Potter needs help,” Percy whispered. “Quickly.”

The house elf vanished and Percy breathed deeply, hoping that she would only tell Lucius, and not anyone else of this transgression. Lucius could be cowed, but Bellatrix… Bellatrix would throw Percy to the wolves faster than he could blink. Ascending the stairs back to the main parlour, Percy could hear Bellatrix’s low, threatening tone.

“Who got into my vault!” Bellatrix screamed, and Percy watched as the goblin bared his sharp teeth at her. “Who stole it? Who?!”

“It’s a fake, Madam Lestrange,” He explained as calmly as he could, those dark, beady eyes fixed on her face with the most hateful glare he could get away with. “There is no place safer than Gringotts.”

“Liar!” She shrieked, and Percy stepped in as she slashed her anthame over the goblin’s cheek, a thin line of red blooming on the skin.

“He has no reason to lie to you, Bellatrix,” Percy interjected, glaring at her as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What could that possibly gain him?”

“His kind are lying thieves, the lot of them!” Bellatrix turned to face Percy, who didn’t flinch as she approached him. “Or maybe it was _you_ , Gryffindor? Tell me, how is it that the Sword of Gryffindor is summoned, hmm?”

“It presents itself at a time of need to any _worthy_ Gryffindor,” Percy scoffed, looking down his nose at the woman. “Not every Gryffindor is worthy. I am no more capable of summoning the sword than Wormtail would be.”

Bellatrix sneered at him, then at Pettigrew over his shoulder, and Percy raised his chin in challenge. “So you agree it could be real?”

“My assumption is that they probably had hoped to break into your vault to exchange the fake for the real sword,” Percy grasped the handle of the sword and held it loosely, looking at the pommel before he carelessly tossed it at the goblin. “A masterful fake, but a fake nonetheless, yes?”

The goblin looked over the sword with an unreadable expression, his beady black eyes travelling up to Percy, then to Bellatrix’s own eyes. “Undoubtedly a fake. Subpar construction as well.” He held up the sword with a sneer. “No goblin worth his salt or skill would allow such dreck to leave his workshop.”

“Well then,” The woman’s voice was deceptively calm as she turned to face Hermione. “Now that that’s settled… What to do with this mudblood?”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Percy and Bellatrix were struck simultaneously with the spells, Percy’s wand twitching in the sheath but remaining encased in the tight leather at his wrist. He drew the wand and turned to face his younger brother. 

“ _Reversusque_!” Percy shouted, tossing the jinx at Ron, only for it to be blocked. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” Ron’s spell managed to miss Percy entirely and Percy glared at him.

“ _Pradolore_!” Percy’s curse struck true and Ron groaned as he fell to the ground, Percy standing over his brother as he held his wand level with Harry. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Percy stared directly at the Boy Who Lived, his heart pounding as their green gazes met. “You hesitate to sacrifice those that mean the most to you.” Harry glanced over at Bellatrix, who had Hermione’s throat beneath her knife as the two of them stood in the center of the room. “But that’s the name of this game.”

“Violence?” Harry snarled, glaring at Percy as he weakly lowered his wand, both of his friends held captive.

“No,” Percy could hear the sound of a soft squeaking, and refused to draw attention to it, could hear rusty bolts being loosened. “Sacrifice. And believe me, Harry Potter, it’s a game that’s designed to hurt.”

In the silence the others looked up and Percy looked as well, trying not to smile at the sight of the strange little house elf that Ron had told him about. Hermione screamed and ripped away from Bellatrix as the heavy wrought iron chandelier came crashing down. Percy tackled Ron to the ground, staring at his brother’s wide, brown eyes and shoved his wand into his hands. 

“Run, Ron.”

* * *

Another Horcrux had been found and destroyed and Voldemort’s paranoia grew. Malfoy Manor was no longer a safe haven for him, Nagini, or Percy. Now… Now they had to be careful. Percy had been sent to Hogwarts to remain under the protection of the Carrows and Headmaster Snape. Whether or not Voldemort knew about how much his “Schrödinger Horcrux” was involved with his “Most Loyal Follower” remained to be seen, but for now… For now Bellatrix seemed to be keeping her mouth shut. 

He had arrived early in the morning at Hogsmeade, in the dewy and dark pre-dawn. He had taken his time to wander into the Shrieking Shack, exploring the creaking and dilapidated rooms. There was a smell of decay, of rotten wood and fabric. Peering out a dirt-smeared window he could see the drizzle of April showers blanketing the landscape. The faint outlines of Dementors bobbed in the sky, like ghastly muggle weather balloons caught in the inclement weather. 

“Oh, Mister Weasley…” A voice whispered and Percy turned, frowning instinctively at being caught unguarded. 

“Professor Trelawney,” He didn’t smile, he rarely smiled these days, but he did wave his wand, righting two overturned chairs and a table. “Please, sit, I wasn’t expecting anyone else here.”

The woman hesitated before she sat, watching Percy open his bag. He summoned Bathilda Bagshot’s teaset, carefully, fondly running his fingers over the golden rims, before he waved his wand and filled the teapot with boiling water. “I hope black tea is alright.” He rummaged through his bag and spooned some tea leaves from the tin. One for each person, one for the pot. 

There was an awkward silence while a heating charm brewed the tea, Trelawney worrying one of her shawls between her fingers. “It’s good to see you, Mister Weasley,” She said slowly, carefully. The Carrows had likely wrought their horrible torment on her more often than not. 

“I think we both know that it is not,” Percy whispered, staring at the woman. Her eyes flicked down to his left arm, covered by the thick leather of his wand sheath beneath his robes. He wasn’t sure when the soft browns and burgundies and forest greens had changed to black, to the veritable uniform of the Death Eaters, but it had. Sitting now in front of his old teacher he silently stared at her, watching her nervously look him over, he was suddenly aware of how much he had changed. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this place. I doubt that the Carrows would want to come out here to drag anyone back.”

“It’s just… Sometimes I come here to escape them,” Trelawney wrung her fingers.

“Understandable, they are unpleasant people to be around even if they are my… Colleagues.” Percy poured two cups of tea and held out one to Trelawney. “Sugar? Milk?” He waved his wand and the matching sugarbowl and milk jug floated out of his bag. 

“Please,” Trelawney poured herself some of each and stirred at her tea while Percy sipped at his own unchanged. It was a good mix, the wafting smell reminding him of pancakes on Sunday mornings doused in sweet syrup. “This is lovely.” The Professor whispered and Percy smiled but didn’t say anything. 

They sat like that in silence for a time, and Percy wondered if this could be his future, hiding in dilapidated buildings, trying to find faint glimmers of civilization in an uncivilized world. Or if he would even survive to the end of the war, whether or not he was on the losing side.

“You had a prophecy many years ago,” Percy said softly, breaking the sound of rain pattering on the worn down roof of the shack. “About Harry Potter and The Dark Lord.”

“I did,” The woman nodded, her beaded earrings rattling with the movement.

“Could you do something for me?” He hesitated before he sighed and held out his palm to the woman. “Could you… Read my future?”

Trelawney reached out, gently grasping Percy’s fingers before she pulled back as if she had been struck by lightning. She looked up at him, then down at his hand, carefully leaning over to look at his palm. 

“There are… There are many paths your future may take,” She whispered. “You have… You have converged with a fate that is riddled with suffering, but soon you will part from this intertwined fate.” She let her hands drop away from where they hovered on either side of Percy’s palm. “I’m sorry, I cannot tell you more.”

Percy was silent for a few long moments before he asked, softly. “Will I die?”

“That is unclear,” She shook her head, looking at him. “Usually the beyond screams about this subject, but for you… It is quiet.”

Percy nodded, drawing his hand closer to his body before he sighed and smiled at her. “Thank you, Professor.” He stood, gathering his bag and the empty cups, glancing down at the tea leaves before he cast a quick cleaning spell. The teaset drifted into his bag and Percy adjusted his cloak, letting his black robes swirl about him. “I will see you at dinner.”

“O-oh?” She asked, straightening.

“I’ve been stationed here for the time being,” Percy folded his hands as he looked at the woman. “As assistant to Severus Snape.”

The trek through the Shrieking Shack, up to just below the Whomping Willow was a long one, and when Percy immobilized the willow he wondered if he should just wait, stand still and let the enchanted tree beat him to death. It would likely be a painful death, but wasn’t that what he deserved after everything?

“Mister Weasley,” Severus’ voice called and Percy turned, smiling up at the man standing amist the Sabbat Henge. He climbed up to the circle of great stones and held out his hand to the man. Severus bowed his head to offer a brief, soft kiss to Percy’s fingers. “I was informed of your arrival.”

“The Dark Lord believes that Hogwarts is the safest place for me, for now.” Percy strode through the halls alongside Severus, his eyes sweeping over the familiar corridors. There was no joy left in Hogwarts. The entire structure was devoid of color and laughter and children’s smiles and spirit. Even the ghosts were subdued in their actions as they drifted about the school.

“Harry Potter managed to steal the cup of Helga Hufflepuff. He broke into Bellatrix’s vault with the sword of Gryffindor, but left without the sword,” Severus said as he and Percy fell in step beside one another. Percy nodded, keeping his hands laced before his stomach as they moved, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the man beside him. “Brainless brats, the lot of them.”

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t,” Percy sighed as he walked alongside the man. 

“Shakespeare,” Severus arched a questioning brow.

“Hamlet,” Percy confirmed, turning to stand face to face with the other man. “We cannot assume that they don’t know what they’re doing. We have to assume they will succeed in their task.”

“You didn’t have to teach Potter basic potions,” Severus sighed, gesturing for Percy to follow him up to the Headmaster’s quarters. “I’ve informed the Carrows that you will remain in my private quarters for the time being, they have the strongest wards in the castle, nothing but I can enter or leave them.” A pale hand lifted to rest on a solid stone wall that slowly slid and shifted until a door appeared. “And now you.”

“I’m touched,” Percy smiled weakly as he stepped into the private quarters, away from prying, unseen eyes. 

Thin shoulders slumped and Percy removed his cloak, letting it pool at his feet. He was exhausted and he was sure it showed in every line of his face and body. Severus was silent and Percy didn’t feel up to breaking the stillness or silence. When long fingers stroked over his shoulders, pulling at the stiff black wool of his robes, Percy allowed his head to tilt back against the man’s shoulder. A thin, strong arm wrapped around his chest and Percy lifted his own hand to rest on Severus’ wrist as the man started to undo the line of buttons from Percy’s throat down his chest. Black wool fell open, and black silk followed, until Percy was standing with slivers of pale skin exposed to searching, cold fingers. 

“We aren’t going to make it out alive… Are we?” Percy asked softly, staring at nothing in particular. 

“Most likely not,” Severus whispered, his lips against the tender skin of Percy’s throat. 

Percy laced his fingers with Severus’ own and looked at the man’s dark, searching eyes. “Then let’s make the most of what little time we have.”

For once there was no urgency. It was there, surely, underneath everything else, but it was background noise, like the rain that poured outside the windows of the Headmaster’s quarters. There was instead, overwhelming in its intensity, tenderness. They didn’t close their eyes or douse the lights and when Percy turned to face his lover his eyes stared into the man’s sallow, gaunt features. He had aged a thousand years it seemed and Percy’s heart ached as he traced his fingers over the man’s lips, over his jaw and cheeks. 

“You’re beautiful,” Severus whispered, and Percy flushed the same as every other time the man spoke the words. “You’re perfect.”

“You’re beautiful too,” Percy sank his fingers into the man’s hair, drawing him closer. “I adore you.”

They tumbled into the bed and Percy would think the room to be beautiful, with its view of the lake and the surrounding mountains. Even with the rainfall it was gorgeous and Percy gasped as his attention was drawn away from the view by Severus’ mouth on his stomach, drawing further and further down. 

“Look at me,” The man murmured into Percy’s skin and green eyes fixed on black. “I love you.”

Percy smiled and his fingers tangled in Severus’ hair before he drew the man up for a kiss, rolling their bodies until Severus’ waist was pinned between Percy’s thighs. “I love you too,” He leaned down and kissed at pale, thin lips, his tongue tracing the perfect cupid’s bow of the man’s mouth. “I’ll love you until the stars turn cold.”

“Percy-” Severus grunted as Percy slid down his body, the older man clawing at Percy’s shoulders and curls as he felt dexterous fingers undo the fastenings of his robes, peeling back layer by layer until he was rewarded with pale, tender skin. 

“Let me touch you,” Percy soothed his hands over the older man’s body, over chest and stomach, pressing kisses to skin dusted with dark hair until his mouth pressed to the jut of the man’s bony hip. His fingers slid over the man’s length, firm enough to make his lips press tightly together to contain a noise. “I’ll be good to you, I’ve always been good to you.”

Severus was silent before he nodded and whispered, “I… I trust you.”

That was the phrase that made Percy’s heart soar, that made his eyes burn with tears as he stared up at the man. He kissed his way to the man’s length, taking him in his mouth and feeling the way Severus shuddered at the intimate touch. Percy knew that neither of them would last long at this rate. They hadn’t touched like this in months now and Percy was starved for the man, and if the look in Severus’ dark eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows to stare down at Percy was any indication then Severus was also beyond anything but a quick exchange. 

It was the quickest, messiest blowjob that Percy had ever given the man, but it got the job done, soaking rigid flesh until Percy could straddle Severus, thin hands gripping at his hips to steady him, and sink down. The two of them moaned in symphony and Percy threw his arm around Severus’ shoulders, dragging the man in for a deep, hungry kiss, letting Severus his throat when their bodies were finally flush together. They were both quiet men by nature, but Percy relished every groan and snarling noise he could draw from the man pinned beneath him. Severus seemed to enjoy the similar effect he had on Percy, biting and bruising freckled skin until Percy’s eyes were wet with overstimulated tears, his hips grinding against Severus’ in retaliation. 

It was such a quick encounter that Percy was certain that he’d be setting himself upon Severus again within an hour, their sweat-sticky bodies curled against one another as neither cared enough to pull apart. Severus’ eyes stared into his own and Percy smiled as he rested his hand on Severus’ cheek, stroking his thumb over the man’s cheekbone. Severus didn’t manage to do more than offer a weak, exhausted tilt of his lips, but Percy kissed the motion anyway, gentle and sweet, grateful for anything that the man gave him.

They were dead men walking. This was the least the universe could give them.

* * *

The student body was gathered in the Great Hall, the tables vanished, making the entire room feel as though it were an execution chamber. The Carrows stood behind Severus, like two smirking gargoyles, while Percy prowled up and down the columns of students, his eyes turning from face to face as Severus spoke.

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour.” Severus was still, statuesque to a point where it didn’t even look like he was breathing. “It’s come to my attention that earlier this evening Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade.” His nostrils flared and Percy could sense the tension that bled from every student in the Great Hall. “Now.” The man took the first step off of the elevated dias where the staff tables usually sat. “Should anyone, student or staff…” He looked at McGonagall and Slughorn specifically before he turned his attention back to the student body. “… attempt to aid Mister Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression.” He strode down the main aisle of students, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes. “Furthermore, any person found to have knowledge of these events who fails to come forward will be treated as _equally guilty._ ” Percy lurked at the side of the Great Hall, glaring at the student body like a bloody spectre as Severus’ eyes glided over the various houses that mingled together. “Now then. If anyone in here has any knowledge of Mister Potter’s movements this evening… I invite them to step forward.” He straightened and stood in the center of the Great Hall, Percy looking at the various guilty, downturned faces. “Now.”

Silence. And then footsteps. 

Harry Potter stood, in Gryffindor robes over his muggle clothing, and the stuents turned, gasping in shock as a ripple of murmurs filled the room. “It seems despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you still to have a bit of a security problem, Headmaster.”

The doors to the Great Hall were thrown open, Kingsley Shacklebolt leading the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Bill’s eyes seemed to bore into Percy as they caught sight of him. Percy couldn’t show fear, couldn’t show anything in the face of his family. Their lives depended on Percy’s courage. 

“It seems to be quite extensive.” Harry continued, glaring hatefully at Severus while Percy started to edge through the crowded students. “How dare you stand where he stood! Tell them what happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and killed him! Tell them!”

Severus drew his wand, and in an instant McGonagall had drawn her own and faced her colleague, co-conspirator, and friend. Severus hesitated and Percy could see the pain in his face as he stared at McGonagall. Percy drew his own replacement wand and threw a curse at McGonagall’s back before she could cast a spell on Severus.

“ _Incarcerous_!” Percy shouted, and the student body gasped and parted as McGonagall turned her own wand to him.

Severus threw his own curse at her and Harry Potter stepped in, throwing a hex at Percy.

The four were a flurry of magic, Potter, McGonagall and Severus managing wordless magic while Percy’s voice grew more and more breathless and terrified as his spells failed to land. He was struck by one of Potter’s spells and Severus drew his cloak about himself, whirling through the Great Hall as if he were riding a broom. His hand grasped Percy’s and Percy pressed his face into the man’s chest, clinging tightly as Severus crashed through the window pane, abandoning the Carrows to McGonagall’s tender mercies as the two of them flew to the edge of the castle grounds and Forbidden Forest, wind whipping past their bodies as tips of trees caught and snagged at their robes. 

Before they could go much further a they struck the edge of a shielding spell, sending a crackle of electric sharp magic across their nerves. Severus let out a shout as he lost control of their flight, sending the two of them spiraling down towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Their bodies landed with a thud on the forest floor, Percy gasping as his breath was knocked clean out of his body. Severus groaned beneath him, the man’s back having impacted with the ground and Percy’s body landing on his chest. 

They struggled to straighten and Percy groaned as he rolled off of his lover’s body, staring at the sparkling wall of magic above them. “Fuck.” He forced himself upright, Severus following until the two of them were unsteadily standing on their feet. “Come on, we can’t get through the barrier, but the Whomping Willow-”

“The Shrieking Shack, yes,” Severus took Percy’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. They stumbled through the woods, over roots that seemed to move specifically to trip them up, as if the very grounds themselves were trying to protect Hogwarts. 

Severus stumbled, grunting as he fell to the ground and Percy kept his grip on the man. “Come on, come on, we’re almost there!” Percy pulled with all of his strength, throwing a slashing hex at the roots clawing at Severus’ legs and waist, trying to drag him into the earth. “ _Segmentum_!”

The roots recoiled from the spell and Severus clawed himself free of the ground, resuming their same breakneck pace. They didn’t even try to immobilize the Whomping Willow, staying low to the ground and diving into the dirt tunnel. Percy shivered as he lay on Severus, the two of them curled against one another as urgent hands checked for wounds. 

“I’m fine, Severus,” Percy shivered and kissed the man, his own hands tangled in Severus’ cloak. “I’m fine. We have to keep moving.”

They stumbled and limped through the uneven tunnel, pawing their way through the maze. Percy felt dread settle in his stomach as he heard voices in the echoing, empty corridors of the house. 

“My Lord?” Lucius’ halting voice called and Percy froze before he shivered and crept up the stairs, Severus’ hand grasped in his as he led the way. “Might it be less… Ah… Might it not be more prudent to call off this attack and simply seek the boy yourself?”

“I do not need to seek the boy!” Voldemort hissed, a piece of broken and ancient furniture slamming into a wall, shattering as Percy and Severus both flinched, waiting outside the door. “Before the night is out he will come to me himself, do you understand?” A sneer and the sound of a hand slapping a face, Lucius’ heavy footsteps stumbling backwards. “How can you live with yourself, Lucius?”

Percy felt pity for the man as he whispered a soft, “I don’t know.”

Silence. Then Voldemort’s voice spoke again, “Where are Severus and Percival? Bring them to me!”

Severus straightened himself, stepping into the room before Percy, the younger man following his lover hesitantly. “Here, My Lord.”

“Ah, excellent,” Voldemort smiled at the two, gesturing for Percy to come forward. Percy obeyed, letting the man check his face, his curls, before he released the younger man. “You and Nagini must remain safe, Percival, without you two here the battle is already lost.”

Percy nodded mutely, moving to stand in a corner nearest the window, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to throw himself from it now and be rid of this farce. But he was a coward. He always had been, the Sword of Gryffindor had made a mistake in allowing him to draw it forth that one time.

“I have other things to discuss with you, Severus,” Voldemort looked over at the Headmaster, ignoring Percy for the time being. “The Elder Wand requires something else.”

Severus held his hands behind his back, wringing his fingers. “You have performed extraordinary magic with this wand, My Lord, in these last few hours alone.”

“No, no,” Voldemort turned and glared at Severus, holding the wand loosely in his hand before he strode over to Percy’s corner of the room, “I _am_ extraordinary, but the wand…” He drew the tip of the wand over Percy’s jaw. “It resist me… Like so many things.”

Severus’ eyes did not flicker and Percy held his breath as he stared up at Voldemort, the monster of a man turning his serpentine neck to peer over at Severus when the man spoke. “There is no wand more powerful.” Percy’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure that both Severus and Voldemort could hear it. “Ollivander himself said so. Tonight, when the boy comes, it will not fail you, I’m sure of it.” 

Percy looked up at the monster before him, shivering as he stared at those blood red eyes, at the too wide mouth he had seen swallow Charity Burbage nearly whole. “It answers to you and you only.” He whispered, trying to quietly convince the Dark Lord away from the thoughts of disloyalty. Disloyalty of the wand, of Percy himself.

“Does it?” Voldemort asked, staring down at Percy with a piercing gaze that tried to wretch his soul open to the world.

“My Lord?” Percy’s eyes didn’t blink, didn’t move from the twin pools of blood staring down at him.

“The wand, does it truly answer to me?” Voldemort turned to Severus and Percy felt his heart stop as the man straightened to stare down at Severus. “You’re a clever man, Severus, surely you must know? Where does its true loyalty lie?”

Severus’ eyes flicked to Percy and then fixed on Voldemort, but that hesitation was damning. “With you, of course, My Lord.”

“The elder wand cannot serve me properly because I am not its true master.” Voldemort circled around the man, stroking one of his hands over the man’s black hair for a moment, as if he were a mortician preparing a corpse for embalming. “The elder wand belongs to whoever killed its last owner.”

“No…” Percy whispered, his heart pounding double time as he straightened. “No, My Lord, that isn’t true. It’s simply not true.”

“You killed Dumbledore, Severus.” Voldemort ignored Percy’s words, and Percy lunged forward, trying to grab the wrist of the hand holding the elder wand trained on Severus. Two more of the monster’s four hands grabbed Percy, throwing him to the ground with a thud. “While you live the elder wand cannot truly be mine.”

“Please, Master!” Percy shouted, grasping the edge of the man’s robes. “Please, don’t do this!”

“You’ve been a good and faithful friend, Severus,” Voldemort leveled his eyes on Severus, not even sparing Percy a spare glance. “But only I can live forever.”

“My Lord-” Severus started, only to be cut off by Voldemort’s words.

“Nagini, kill.”

“No!” Percy stood, throwing his arms around Severus, clinging to the man tightly. The snake’s open maw impacted with his back and Percy felt the air rush out of his lungs as he stared up at the man’s surprised, dark eyes. “Severus…” Percy whispered.

“No…” Severus knelt with Percy in his arms. There was a window, and Percy’s head lolled as he looked out it. He could see Ron… Ron and Harry and Hermione and Ginny. 

“Well… It looks like my experiments failed,” Voldemort’s voice was distant. “Such a pity. I would have liked to have a body such as his to inhabit.”

Percy stared at the faces of his brother and sister, feeling poison rushing through his veins as tears ran down his face. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, weakly.

“Nagini, kill.”

Severus choked, gurgling as he too was struck, his body slumping upon Percy’s. Their faces were inches from one another and Percy stared into dark eyes as the two of them choked on their breaths, blood spattered into their eyes and across Percy’s glasses. Ghostly footsteps retreated and then, moments or a small eternity later, more footsteps thundered up to them. 

“Percy!” Ginny’s voice called out and Percy couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. “No, no, Percy, Hermione, help me!”

“Look at me,” Severus choked out, and Percy rolled as close as he could, their faces pressed together, their tears mingling as they shared their last breaths. 

Death was different than he had imagined. He had spent so long thinking of death that it felt more like a memory. But these were… These were memories. The memories that had shimmered on his and Severus’ faces, the essences of who they were, blurred together as if they were a film cut and pasted together.

Severus looking at Lily Evans, smiling as she watched him turn a stone into a frog, the two of them small children, not even at Hogwarts. Lily sat at the Sorting Hat while Severus watched from the crowd of first years. The hat landed on red curls and suddenly instead of Lily it was Percy, so serious and scowling even as a first year, Severus watching from the staff table as Percy Weasley, the last student to be sorted that year, stalled the Sorting Hat until it declared Gryffindor. Severus wandered the stacks of the Library, seeing an eleven year old Percy asleep at a study table while he patrolled for students out of bed. He turned his eyes up to another table and there was a young Severus and Lily, trying to break into the Restricted Section together, giggling to themselves as they tried to evade Filch. 

Percy looked up from the potions reports he was ordered to grade for Detention, watching Severus working with a tireless grace at a potion. Severus turned his head and his first kiss was Lily, shared over a cauldron, the two of them smiling weakly at one another before they both looked away, mutually disappointed. 

“I still love you, Lils,” Severus whispered.

“I love you too, Sev,” Lily whispered back. 

Thin hands grasped at Severus’ face and they were in the Headmaster’s office, Percy was dragging him down, shocking the man with his boldness as he pressed his first kiss to Severus’ lips. When they parted Severus was struck by how green the boy’s eyes were. 

“Thank you,” Percy choked out before he raced away from Severus, the man staring after the boy as Percy’s footsteps became more and more distant. Footsteps approached and Severus stood from St. Mungo’s waiting room chair. He didn’t hear the voice of the nurse, only knew in a moment that he was standing before an exhausted Lily in a hospital bed, smiling up at him.

“He has your eyes,” Severus said as he stared at baby Harry James Potter, a curiously wide-eyed baby. “I think you’d want me to love someone, but it’s so hard when he looks so much like you.” Severus was in a graveyard, staring down at the headstone of Lily Potter and James Potter. He blinked and he was back standing beside a hospital bed, but Percy was in it, the boy sickly and pale and sobbing softly. 

“I owe you an apology, Mister Weasley,” Percy flinched at the change from “Percy” to “Mister Weasley”, looking up at the Professor looming over him. “I did not realize that you were not under your own control. You were influenced by someone trying to keep me from finding out his actual intentions.” Heartbreak twice over, mirrored in the two, a loss that neither wanted to admit to.

“Severus!” Percy’s voice squealed as he was lifted into Severus’ arms, the man casting a tickle charm on Percy’s tender stomach, making him breathless and squirming before Severus tossed him onto the clean white sheets of the bed in Spinner’s End. The sheets exploded in a flurry of white and that white gave way to darkness, a clifftop overlooking Hogwarts.

“Severus!” Voldemort’s voice hissed in rage and Severus grasped for a thin arm, pinning Percy to a wall in Knockturn Alley, staring down at the young man and his defiant green gaze, green eyes that swam and changed to Lily’s. Percy standing before Voldemort, his chin tilted in quiet defiance at the House of Gaunt as the man grinned that serpent’s grin at him.

Percy’s throat ached as he sobbed, “I don’t want to die.” Severus’ voice echoed the same, weak and soft.

Dumbledore’s voice surrounded them. “The prophecy didn’t refer to a woman, it spoke of a boy born at the end of July.” Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, thick as thieves. Ron in a hospital bed and Percy quietly resenting Harry Potter and how trouble seemed to follow him like a shadow. Percy writing a note _Sometimes they are alive_ , Percy watching countless muggles, witches, wizards, all killed before his very eyes while Voldemort cupped Percy’s face.

“Yes, but he thinks it’s _her_ son! Hide them, hide them all, I beg of you!” Severus sobbed and looked up at Percy as the boy, angry and hurting and scared stared down at him. In a moment he blinked and there was Lily and Harry, Severus smiling as he sat on a swingset on the cliffside, his billowing black robes sweeping the ground as he watched Lily push a squealing and laughing baby Harry. 

A glass of firewhiskey shattered against a stone cliff face and Percy was so young, too young, “I still hear him, Severus,” Percy whispered, staring at the man and Severus thought of Percy sobbing in the infirmary, reaching out to him, silently begging him to come back. “I’ll always hear him. I’ll always be in danger. I’ll always be a fucking target and because he’s inside me now and I deserve to know what is going on.” Percy’s voice cracked and he could feel hot tears spilling down his face and Severus sobbed as he knelt before Dumbledore, bowing his head to press his forehead to the man’s foot in supplication. “Now you tell me… You tell me everything, or you had better fucking kill me now.” 

“What will you give me in exchange, Severus?” Dumbledore asked and Severus clutched at the hem of the man’s purple robes. 

“Anything.” He whispered and Percy’s voice echoed Severus’, their words mixing and combining, they were one and the same.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!” Voldemort’s voice howled the familiar killing curse while Percy screamed for Severus to kill Dumbledore, echoing around the sitting room of Spinner’s End while Severus made an unbreakable vow with Narcissa and Percy watched in horror.

Severus threw one of Dumbledore’s trinkets against a wall, shattering the delicate pieces, “You said you would keep her safe!”

“Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person, Severus.” Dumbledore turned from the window and stared at him and Severus averted his eyes. The Mirror of Erised stood in the Headmaster’s Office, Lily stood, her hand outstretched, and then Severus blinked and Percy stared back instead, Severus’ arms around him, the two of them mirrored on either side of the glass, wanting the same thing. “Rather like you. The boy survives-” Percy lifting up a squalling Ron, grabbing Fred while Bill grabbed Charlie and George, all of them crammed into a vanishing cabinet while their parents told them everything would be alright. 

“He doesn’t need all this protection!” Severus paced Dumbledore’s office and the vanishing cabinet’s door cracked open, Percy staring out of it into the Headmaster’s office. “I am his remaining godfather, let me care for him! Not those muggles! The Dark Lord is gone!” Harry swinging in a park in Little Whinging and Severus watching him from beneath the invisibility cloak. The cloak bundled and carefully wrapped, delivered to Harry on his first Christmas at Hogwarts.

“The Dark Lord will return! And when he does the boy will be in terrible danger!” Dumbledore shouted and Percy grabbed Ron and Hermione, shouting at Severus to follow Harry when the boy raced off after a werewolf and a convicted murderer. ”He has her eyes.” Harry and Percy’s eyes fixed on one another in Malfoy Manor. “If you truly loved her…” Dumbledore trailed off.

“No one can know,” Severus said it to Dumbledore, looking away from the man, he whispered it to Percy’s lips as they stood in his office at Hogwarts, their arms wrapped around one another. “No one can ever know.”

“I shall never reveal the best of you, Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed around them and Severus held Percy close, their hands laced together as they lit Imbolc candles to drive away evil and darkness. 

“I don’t want to do this, Severus,” Percy sobbed, curled up against the man’s chest as if that could protect him from the world he had been plunged into. Percy standing over his brother as he held his wand level with Harry’s own. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Percy stared directly at the Boy Who Lived, his heart pounding as their green gazes met. “You hesitate to sacrifice those that mean the most to you.” 

Severus’ smile as he taught Percy how to make moon water on the full moon, standing on the roof of the Astronomy tower. Severus and Dumbledore below them in the Astronomy tower, “I don’t want to do this anymore, Albus.” 

“But that’s the name of this game.” Percy’s voice whispered and his blood soaked into Severus’ chest, runes of protection turned black then fading to nothing under the surface of the man’s skin.

“Violence?” Harry snarled, and Percy stood with his wand aimed at Bathilda Bagshot, as Scrimgeour drank poisoned firewhiskey from purple and white and gold tasseomancy cups in Malfoy Manor while Voldemort killed a muggle woman right before Percy’s eyes.

“No,” Percy and Severus lay on a clean bed, freshly laundered sheets tucked over their heads to form a white cave that filtered the drab sunlight of Cokeworth into something ethereal and warm. Percy reached out and Severus cupped his face, the two of them sharing a kiss. “Sacrifice.”

Lucius Malfoy and Percy Weasley’s voices on the other side of a door that Severus could not open. He could not give away his feelings for the boy, but he listened to snarls and furniture groaning and then when Lucius left Percy’s quiet, choked back sobs. He entered the room and Percy shattered even further. “Did you hear that?” Percy asked softly, and Severus nodded silently. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Severus whispered as he knelt before Percy and they were so close yet so far, sitting across the table at Riddle House from one another, on the left and right of Voldemort, taking solace in the silent gazes of dark eyes meeting green. “You don’t have to do any of this. I could tell Dumbledore, I could have you taken to the Order, your family would-”

“No,” Percy shook his head softly and he stood in the garden of the Burrow, watching Scrimgeour and Harry Potter talk as they walked around the perimeter of the garden, smoking a cigarette as Bill looked down at him. “It’s… It’s too dangerous. He thinks that I’m…”

Percy crumpled a thousand times over, shattered and dying a death by a thousand cuts as he screamed into the sky. Severus throwing valuable items around Dumbledore’s office after the man’s death and his promotion, sobbing through his own grief. 

“And believe me, Harry Potter,” Percy’s voice whispered, deadly and flat. “It’s a game that’s designed to hurt.”

A million snapshots and moments of time, coalescing into every moment where they whispered, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that follows canon. The next four chapters will be four separate endings following this chapter. The chapter directly following this one will be the "true" ending that was requested by my anonymous requester and will be considered the "real" ending of the fic and can be enjoyed without the subsequent chapters.


	8. Hiraeth: (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and The Painting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally accepted this request I had been informed that the story, despite any changes I made, was to follow the exact line of canon in that Severus was to die and Percy was to live. As such I had actually written the majority of this chapter first in order to solidify the ideas I had. The requester then decided that they wanted both Percy and Severus to survive the events of the Battle of Hogwarts. That alternate ending will be posted next, as well as the others.
> 
> This is the ending where Severus dies and Percy lives.   
> For Alternate Endings reference these chapters:  
> Drapetomania: Both Severus and Percy live.  
> Pyrrhic: Both Severus and Percy die.  
> Anacampserote: Severus lives, Percy dies.

St. Mungo’s always had been and always would be the worst place to wake up. Percy remembered falling from the old oak tree in their garden, long turned into a new wing for Ron and Ginny, and waking up with a broken arm in St. Mungo’s with his mother fussing and arguing with the healers. The sound of Molly Weasley’s frantic voice is absent, though, and when Percy manages to get some stock of his surroundings he finds his wrist tied by a hanging rope to the side of the hospital bed. 

“Severus,” He calls out softly, but no one responds and panic grips him. “Severus!” His voice cracks and the word is jumbled but he tries to roll over, but the rope holds him fast. 

The curtain surrounding his bed is pulled back and a healer comes in with a team of orderlies and Percy can’t help but wonder if this was all for show as four perfectly healthy young men and women were ordered to hold him down.

“Severus, where’s Severus?” Percy tried to claw at the hanging rope, but his fingers had no coordination and his tongue was like lead in his mouth. 

“Take this, Mister Weasley, it will help,” The healer was holding out a potion bottle and Percy flailed, trying to slap it away. 

“No, where’s Severus, tell me where he is!” Percy strained and struggled, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s familiar dark head. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “He’s dead.”

“Mister Weasley, please, this will be easier for everyone if you don’t struggle,” The healer drew her wand and Percy looked up at the woman and felt so… Utterly defeated. 

“No,” He whispered, shaking his head. “Just let me die… If… If Severus is dead, please, just let me die.”

The healer didn’t accept that and in a moment a thumb is jammed into his jaw, forcing his mouth open so that the potion can be poured down his throat. The fact that he didn’t choke on or inhale it is probably due to a spell not taught at Hogwarts for fear of student misuse. Percy didn’t have time to think about that, not when he fell into oppressive darkness once more.

The next time he woke he was allowed to maintain consciousness. Percy Weasley, golden student of Hogwarts, proceeded to make his continued existence the problem of every member of the St. Mungo’s staff that came to him. From demanding nearly nonstop to see Severus, to speak to someone, to outright making a healer cry with the vicious invective he threw at her after tossing a lunch tray at the door. No one could get him to stop, not the head healer, not his mother when she came to visit him, not even the Auror that was summoned when Percy had violently kicked an orderly that had tried to convince Percy to use a bedpan. 

“I want to speak to Severus, I need to see him!”

A week after he had woken, he was escorted out of his hospital room on legs that wobbled like a newborn colt and delivered to a hallway where he was met by Harry _Fucking_ Potter. 

“Percy-”

“Where is Severus?” Percy managed as he stared at Harry, leaning against a wall as his legs threatened to give out. “You clearly managed to revive me, where is he?”

“Percy, let’s go sit down,” Harry’s voice was so gentle that Percy felt himself shattering from within just from the sound. 

“No, you don’t understand, I need to-”

“I saw the memories,” Strong, calloused hands grasped Percy’s arm to keep him from falling. “I’m here to tell you that they are being reviewed as evidence for your trial.”

Percy was sure that everything else had frozen, that he could hear a pin drop in the silence. “Those were private.” He choked out accusingly, his throat constricting as his heart pounded. 

“He gave them to me,” Green eyes met a matching set and Percy felt tears spilling over his cheeks. “To save you.”

“Fat lot of good it will do,” He looked away, trying to steady his breaths. “Is he… is he here?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see him,” Percy straightened as best as he could.

“I don’t think-”

“Please,” Percy whispered, unable to keep his voice from cracking. “I… I never got to say goodbye.”

They stood together for a long moment before Harry nodded to the orderlies behind Percy, taking the thin patient’s arm to support the majority of his weight. They walked for what felt like a small eternity and when they came to a door marked “Morgue” Percy felt his breath catch in his throat.

“We don’t have to do this, Percy.”

“I have to say goodbye,” Percy whispered. “I have to.”

Harry knocked, and a mortician answered the door, looking over the two as he stood in his thick black robes. “Ah, Mister Potter, Mister Weasley.” He gave them both an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that it’s… There’s only so much I could do… The damage was-”

Percy straightened his back and gave the man his most stern look, thinking of Severus standing before a classroom of unruly first years, “Where is Severus?”

Severus, as it turned out, was in a glass stasis chamber, one of dozens in the morgue, some occupied, some empty. 

“Can I touch him?” Percy asked softly as he rested his hand on the glass. “Please?”

“I’m afraid not, the spells are keeping him preserved for the funeral.” The mortician stared at Percy and he could feel the man’s pity. “I can leave you for a few minutes.”

“Please?” Percy whispered, staring at Severus’ face. He didn’t look at Harry or this stranger, he couldn’t bear for them to see his pain as he stood over the body of his lover. 

When the doors closed, Percy let out a wretched sob, one that clawed through his chest, out of his throat, past his teeth as he pressed his forehead to the glass. The sobs grew louder, stronger, and Percy rested his hand upon the edge of the table, right at the seam where metal met glass. 

“Severus, Severus, please, wake up,” He choked, staring at the man’s pale face. Thin lips drawn in a softer line than they usually were in life, his brows softened and eyes closed, as if he was merely sleeping. If it weren’t for the enormous jagged lines of flesh at the man’s throat, torn open by Nagini’s fangs, then Percy would have believed that his desperate pleas would be heard. “I love you, Severus, I love you so much.” Percy stared and wished he could see his lover’s eyes one last time. “I will love you until the stars turn cold.”

When his sobs finally calmed, he was still allowed time alone, so he leaned his body over the glass case, taking weight off of his weakly shaking legs, and stared down at Severus’ face as he began to recite the man’s favourite story. “ _This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought single-handed, through the bath-rooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the musk-rat, who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice; but Rikki-tikki did the real fighting._ ”

* * *

“You are Percival Ignatius Weasley, of The Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, correct?”

“Yes,” Percy stared up at Kingsley Shacklebolt as the man looked down at him from the seat of Minister of Magic. Pius had been killed, Percy had been informed, and he had been replaced by Shacklebolt, who Percy had always considered fair, if biased and painfully loyal to Dumbledore. Flashbulbs went off and Percy knew that there were hundreds of reporters, witnesses, and even his own family sitting surrounding him as he stood trial, but he couldn’t think of them. Of any of them. 

All he could think of was Severus, who was in the process of being buried. They couldn’t hold his body at the morgue indefinitely and the waning likelihood of Percy’s release had led Harry to make the effort of burying Severus himself. 

“You stand before the Wizengamot today accused of the willful and premeditated murders of Rufus Scrimgeour, Bathilda Bagshot, as well as the practice of Dark Arts in the service of Lord Voldemort.” Shacklebolt looked down at Percy with a frown. “How do you plead?”

He stood in the the too-small cage that had held him years ago at his hearing regarding Barty Crouch Senior’s untimely demise, the hanging rope binding his wrists, and he knew that this time… This time there would be no mercy. There would be no Lucius Malfoy to handwave and buy Percy’s freedom. “Guilty,” Percy whispered, his heart pounding. 

“Louder for the court scribe, Mister Weasley,” Shacklebolt called.

“I plead guilty,” He stared up at the man, his voice rising to be heard over the ripple of murmurs and shouts of the gathered crowd. He could hear Molly’s sobs and wondered if she remained there out of a sense of duty, or from some misplaced idea that Percy had been arrested by mistake.

“Order in the court!” Shacklebolt barked, pounding his gavel. 

“Witness for the Defense!” A familiar voice called and Percy glared as Harry Potter himself stepped forward, staring up at Shacklebolt defiantly. “Harry James Potter.”

“Mister Potter, what do you bring before the court?”

“I bring this,” Harry held up the battered, destroyed remnants of Tom Riddle’s Diary and Percy reeled away from it, causing the cage to rattle and sway as he tried to escape the cursed item. 

“Get that thing away from me!” He hissed, his shoes unable to get any purchase on the bottom of the cage as panic gripped him. “Get it away!”

“This was a horcrux, containing the soul of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort,” Harry explained as he placed the diary in front of Shacklebolt. “I destroyed it in my second year of Hogwarts, not realizing fully what it was. Percy Weasley was possessed by it for nearly a year, resulting in the petrifications of several students, a ghost, and Mrs. Norris.”

“Who is Mrs. Norris? She is staff?” One of the witches on the Wizengamot asked.

“She is the caretaker’s cat,” Harry explained before he gestured to the diary. “Might I examine the Defense?”

“You may, Mister Potter, but may Mister Weasley please be advised that as you are not true legal representation that he is not required to answer any of your questions,” Shacklebolt looked at Percy with an arched brow.

“I am aware of my rights,” Percy said simply, looking at Harry even as he remained pressed as far away from the diary as he could. 

“In your own words, Mister Weasley, please tell us how you came into the possession of this diary,” Harry held up the destroyed book and Percy took a deep breath.

“I was not the intended recipient of the diary. It was placed in my little sister’s cauldron by Lucius Malfoy during an altercation with my father at Flourish and Blotts. I needed a new diary for the school year and could not afford one, so I convinced my sister it was not actually meant to be hers and took it. During the beginning of the school year I found that writing in the diary did not record my classes or schedule or notes, but instead allowed me to communicate with someone that at the time I only knew to be Tom Marvolo Riddle…”

Everything spilled from Percy’s lips. The blackouts, his unfortunate discovery of the rooster he had killed, even how he had destroyed Harry’s own bed when he discovered the Diary had found a new owner after his attempts to get rid of it. He hesitated, looking down at his hands when he came to his return to Diagon Alley after that summer. 

“And then, Percy?” Harry gently prompted and Percy took a deep, steadying breath.

“I went to Knockturn Alley… To Borgin and Burkes.” 

“And what did you find there?”

“I found the book Secrets of the Darkest Art. I… I was confronted by Professor Severus Snape, and in the confusion I stole the book from Mister Borgin. I needed to know what had happened to me. I was…” Percy worked his jaw and glanced at Shacklebolt, then looked back at Harry. “I was hearing Tom’s voice. I couldn’t escape it, and I was terrified. Professor Snape provided me with a lifeline that I was desperate for, allowed me to read the book in his offices after school to try and puzzle out my own life. I discovered horcruxes during that time.”

“This is that book, correct?” Harry reached into his bag, a bag that had once been Percy’s own, given to Ron in the heat of the battle of the Department of Mysteries. 

“Correct,” Percy whispered, staring at the cover. 

“How did you lose possession of it?” Harry asked, staring up at Percy with an attempt at a reassuring smile. 

“I did not lose it,” Percy said simply. “I gave it to my brother, Ronald Weasley, knowing that he, against all fucking reason, was still a very good friend of yours and… According to Sev - Professor Snape’s conversations with Dumbledore, was helping you try to seek out Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

Harry drew out another item from the bag and Percy’s expression softened before he could stop himself. “Percy, could you tell me what this is?”

“It’s a scroll case.” Percy bit his lip before he sighed and explained further. “I enchanted it at the end of my third year at Hogwarts so that it would work much like a vanishing cabinet. There is a twin that it has and I was able to send confidential messages via that scroll case to the other.”

“Who has the twin of this scroll case?”

“Severus Snape had it, I’m sure it has now been confiscated by the Ministry,” Percy wrung his fingers. “When Professor Snape was Headmaster Snape I used his own case to send messages to that one, hoping that my brother had maintained possession of it.”

“That’s not everything you did, isn’t it?” Harry smiled and Percy worked his jaw. “You delivered the Sword of Gryffindor to me in the Forest of Dean.”

“Yes.” Percy whispered. “I… I summoned it from the Sorting Hat and… And Severus and I placed it in the lake.”

“Why?” Harry asked, and it was such a simple question that it confounded Percy as he blinked at the young man. “You were both Death Eaters, sworn to Voldemort. You did all of this at great personal risk. So I ask again: Why?”

Tears rolled down Percy’s face and he stared at Harry silently, listening to the murmurs of the crowd around them. “I was scared.” He whispers, and swallows, before he said softly. “I was scared that he’d win. That… That you wouldn’t figure it all out. Ron was… Ron was with you and Ginny was at Hogwarts and Severus-” His voice cracked and Percy crumpled. “I wanted to die. He thought I was a horcrux. He was going to - he was going to take my body and lock me away, like he did when I had the diary, but it would be forever.” You could hear a pin drop in the courtroom outside of Percy’s ragged sobs. “I was going to die. I knew I was. I deserved it for everything I did, but I… I needed you to win.” Percy stared at Harry, green eyes meeting green. “Even this, here, now… This is better than the fate that would have awaited me at the hands of Tom Riddle.”

* * *

The Wizengamot deliberated Percy’s case for a week. 

On the seventh day he was summoned to the courtroom. He was still bound by the hanging ropes, still held in his cage, standing before the court wane and sick with anxiety. His mother and most of his family were noticeably absent, only Arthur, Ron, and Ginny sat observing the sentencing. Percy bowed his head to avoid their gazes and the flashbulbs of the reporters.

“Percival Ignatius Weasley, you have stood trial for a multitude of crimes, each one horrific in their effects and devastation that they have wrought than the last.” Percy raised his chin defiantly, glaring up at Shacklebolt as the man spoke. “For your crimes, you are to be sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.”

Silence and then a riot. Some people demanding a longer sentence, others demanding less, and Harry Potter’s voice rose above it all, only to be silenced by Shacklebolt’s gavel pounding on the podium for order.

“We have reviewed the evidence, as well as your own memories, which we believe to be the whole truth of the matter. We the Wizengamot find you guilty of innumerable crimes committed in the name of Tom Riddle.” Shacklebolt stared at the two. “Ten years imprisonment is just for the severity of your actions and your case will be reviewed six months prior to the completion of your sentence to assess whether you pose a threat to the public or not.” Shacklebolt waved his hand and Percy hung his head as he sobbed softly. “The case of Wizarding Britain v. Percival Ignatius Weasley is hereby closed and matter of record.” 

“Please,” Percy called out weakly, looking up at Shacklebolt. “Please, just kill me. Please! The killing curse, a dementor’s kiss, beat me to death, torture me, poison me, but please, just kill me!” His entire chest shook as he sobbed and leaned against the bars of his cage. “I can’t - I can’t, please, I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I just want to sleep, please let me sleep!”

He was lowered through the floors to be passed to the Aurors and escorted to Azkaban, throwing his head back to howl at the ceiling.

“Just kill me!”

* * *

“ _He spent all that day roaming over the house. He nearly drowned himself in the bath-tubs, put his nose into the ink on a writing table, and burnt it on the end of the big man's cigar, for he climbed up in the big man's lap to see how writing was done. At nightfall he ran into Teddy's nursery to watch how kerosene-lamps were lighted, and when Teddy went to bed Rikki-tikki climbed up too; but he was a restless companion, because he had to get up and attend to every noise all through the night, and find out what made it. Teddy's mother and father came in, the last thing, to look at their boy, and Rikki-tikki was awake on the pillow._ ”

“Shut up!” A woman’s voice howled from several cells away and Percy scowled as he peered out between the narrow slits built into his cell. The cells of Azkaban were square, barely bigger than a closet, six feet by six feet by six feet. Percy’s head didn’t even brush the ceiling, but his hands could easily touch it if he raised them over his head while standing. There were three inch intervals in the bricks, turning the entire area into a barred cell with the ceiling above him being the floor of another cell, onwards and upwards. Between each column of cells was enough space that the Dementors could freely move about. There were rumors that Aurors would soon replace the horrible creatures, but Percy doubted it. 

“Shut up yourself!” Another voice howled. “I like this story!”

Percy sighed and closed his eyes as he sat on the floor of his cell. They were all in stasis, and therefore felt no hunger nor exhaustion, they had no need for food, for water, for sleep, and as such the boredom was all that was left to them. The hanging ropes tied tightly about their necks were heavy, coarse enough to scratch their necks raw with every breath and motion.

In the time of his imprisonment Percy had probably recited the tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi a thousand times over, trying to keep some of the remaining warmth that had not been stolen by the chill of the dementors’ presence. He hadn’t been able to attend Severus’ funeral, it had taken place after his trial and sentencing, even though Harry had tried to convince the Ministry to release Percy, punishment for his crimes was considered fitting. 

His memories had been returned to him before his transport to Azkaban, and he cherished them beyond all measure. More than the promise that Harry had made to him that Severus’ grave would be placed on the Hogwarts grounds.

“Continue, Mister Weasley,” Percy looked over at Lucius’ cell, a few feet away from his own, and wondered if the Ministry worker who had placed them both so close had a morbid sense of humor. 

Green eyes drifted closed and Percy focused on the memory of Severus’ low double-bass telling him the story. “ _“I don't like that,” said Teddy's mother; “he may bite the child.” “He'll do no such thing,” said the father. “Teddy's safer with that little beast than if he had a bloodhound to watch him. If a snake came into the nursery now-” But Teddy's mother wouldn't think of anything so awful._ ”

* * *

“Weasley!” A voice snapped and Percy’s eyes opened as he stared up at the Auror standing before him. “Auror Savage, I’m here to retrieve you. Your appeal went through, you’re being released.”

Percy blinked slowly, uncomprehending of the man’s words. “Appeal?”

“That Harry Potter must be a great friend, he got you a hell of a defense.”

“He’s not a friend,” Percy whispered as he stood, following Auror Savage out of the cell.

“Not a friend, eh?” The man peered down at Percy, eyes narrowed. “You’re getting out on his good graces, aren’t you going to go thank him?”

“I’d thank him more if he let me die in the Shrieking Shack,” Percy whispered, refusing to look higher than the man’s shirt collar. He was broad and muscular and could easily overpower Percy. His wand was holstered at his hip and Percy wondered if attacking the man would make him draw the wand, kill him in self defense, end this miserable existence once and for all.

“You’re a pretty thing, you know?” Savage asked as he gripped Percy’s chin, tilting his head up so that he could peer through Percy’s dirty, cracked glasses at his green eyes. “Clean you up a bit, wouldn’t mind bringing you home with me.”

“I’m not a stray cat,” Percy whispered, avoiding the man’s inspecting gaze, letting his lips pull into a sneer when a thick thumb jabbed between his teeth to inspect his mouth.

“Heard lots of things about you,” The man growled lowly. “Rita Skeeter wrote a whole section about you in her biography of Snape.”

“She works fast,” Percy didn’t allow his heart to skip at the thought of seeing a photograph of Severus on that book cover, he didn’t allow himself that hope. 

“Come on then, we have a portkey back to the Ministry, get you processed out,” Savage shook Percy’s face before shoving him away, striding quickly down the hallway with Percy following slowly behind. 

He was portkeyed to the Ministry in his ragged prisoner’s garb, marched through the halls where he once served as assistant to the Minister of Magic. He stood before Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mafalda Hopkirk, the latter of which giving him a pitying look that made his head hang further in shame. He didn’t want to suffer her gaze, he didn’t want to be here now. 

“Percival Ignatius Weasley,” Shacklebolt spoke clearly, staring down at Percy sternly. “Your appeal has been noted and you have found by the Wizengamot to have committed several counts of criminal action under duress and threat of violence. Taking into account your involvement with Severus Snape and his own memories, you will be released with your sentence being time served in Azkaban.”

It was… Strange. He had never considered that he’d be released from Azkaban at all, much less what felt like so soon after his initial sentencing. Clearing his throat softly, Percy spoke up for the first time since he entered the Ministry. 

“How long was I in there?”

“Eighteen months,” Shacklebolt said, trying to be gentle even as he stared at Percy. “Mafalda will process you out, but you just need to sign here.” Percy’s finger was pricked with a wand tip and when he pressed his finger to the document his blood coiled into his signature on the surface. “Mafalda, transfigure him some appropriate clothing while you sort out the remains of the estate.”

Percy frowned, looking up at Mafalda quietly. “Estate?”

The woman gave him a pitying look. “Come with me, Percy, we’ll get you some tea, some food, and everything will be sorted.”

He wasn’t sure how long they walked, but Auror Savage followed the entire way, a looming shadow in a brown trench coat that watched Percy as if he wasn’t some pathetic, unarmed prisoner, still weighed down by the hanging rope about his neck. Mafalda’s office was decorated in tasteful creams, with splashes of Ministry purple in the carpet, wall art, and a rather lovely looking couch that was set before Mafalda’s desk. When Percy stepped in, Savage followed, standing beside the door as if he was guarding it from Percy’s escape. 

“Now we have some paperwork to do, and once we fill this out you’ll be released from your bonds and then you’ll be taken to 14 Spinner’s End. Your previous belongings have been kept there due to the fact that the residence was willed to you.” Mafalda explained as gently as she could while she waved her wand and produced tea, biscuits, and a sandwich for Percy.

Percy frowned as he stared at the food, then looked at Mafalda. “Willed?”

“Ah, yes, the will,” Mafalda dug through her desk and produced a purple file, opening it to reveal a document that read _Last Will and Testament_. “This is the Last Will and Testament of Severus Snape, in it he leaves everything, Spinner’s End and all of its contents, to you. He also left you many of his possessions from Hogwarts. Regrettably all of his potions and ingredients were left to the school, but he left you quite a few notebooks specifically in this document.”

“The house?” Percy whispered, his heart aching as he stared at his old colleague. “H-he left me… Spinner’s End?”

“Yes,” Mafalda didn’t seem to know what to say and Percy felt for her, even as his own world collapsed in on itself. The wave of devastation washed through him and Percy covered his face as he tried to contain his soft sobs of anguish. “It’s alright, love, it’s alright.” Mafalda came around the desk, sitting beside Percy as she rubbed at his shoulders, drawing his trembling form against her. “Shh… It’s alright, it’ll all be alright in the end.” She lifted his head and smiled, wiping at the tears on his face. “If it’s not alright, then it’s not the end.”

Percy sniffled, wiping at his eyes as he accepted a tissue from Mafalda, wiping at his nose and eyes as he breathed raggedly. “Where was he buried?”

“With all Hogwarts Headmasters, on the grounds.” Mafalda smiled and Percy was quietly grateful that she had been the one assigned to his case. “Now, may I have your left hand?”

Percy felt the tingle of magic as Mafalda pricked the finger of his left hand before guiding him to press to the parchment on her desk. “Here.” She flicked to another piece of paper. “And here… Here… And this one too… Three on this page, I apologize.”

When they finally made it to the final page Percy touched his finger to the bottom line and his signatures sprawled across the page instinctively. There was a tingle, and then a rush and Percy gasped as he felt suddenly dizzy with the feeling of his own magic coursing through him. The hanging rope tied tightly about his neck fell limply to the ground, like a dead snake suddenly falling from his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” Mafalda asked, pouring him a cup of tea from the set and insistently holding the cup out to him. “Peppermint tea helps, I’ve been told.”

“Thank you,” Percy whispered weakly, accepting the cup. He sipped at the hot liquid, shivering as he felt his magic coursing through his veins with no channel to flow from.

“Now, Percy,” Mafalda looked apologetically at the younger man, her hand resting upon his knee. “Your wand was, regrettably, a stolen one and as such was returned to the rightful owner after your trial and sentencing. The Ministry has given you an allowance for acquiring a new one and that allowance comes to two galleons.” She placed the round coins before Percy on the desk, beside the sandwich he had yet to touch. He wouldn’t take them. He didn’t need a wand where he was going.

“Thank you, Mafalda, you’ve been…” He didn’t have the words for what she had been to him through this waking nightmare. Understanding, kind, generous.

“I believe that you kept an eye out for me while you worked here, Percy,” Mafalda whispered, smiling at him. “At great personal risk. Being the one to maintain your case, to do this… It’s the least I could do.”

Percy nodded, feeling tears in his eyes. “Thank you… For… For helping. For everything. For… For believing the best of me.”

The woman stood, stepping around her desk to give Percy a tight hug. “You were always such a good boy, Percy, and I’m only sorry that I had to wait for so long to tell you that.” Mafalda pulled back, adjusting her robes before she looked over Percy’s shoulder at Auror Savage. “Now. Auror Savage will floo with you to Spinner’s End, unless there is something else?”

A shake of his head and Percy placed the barely touched cup of peppermint tea down. “Thank you, Mafalda,” Percy smiled and left, following Auror Savage through the Ministry hallways to the floos.

When they arrived in Spinner’s End Percy was hit with a wave of scent and how familiar it all was, preserved in time. He could smell books, the faint smell of the moly plant that Severus kept in the windowsill, chewing the stems and leaves and flowers. He looked around the sitting room and let out a shuddering breath as he moved up the stairs to the bedroom. 

Everything was exactly as it had been. Nothing was out of place, even the bedsheets were made with hospital corners the way Severus liked. 

“Was expecting someone to be waiting for you,” Savage said casually, drawing Percy’s attention to the way the man loomed in the doorway. “Your family, Potter, someone.”

“The only person who would care is dead,” Percy whispered, watching the way Savage strode around the room, lifting up the last book that Severus had been reading in bed. “You can leave.” He spoke more sharply as he grasped the book and placed it perfectly back down, staring at Severus’ pillow, adjusting it just so before he smoothed the edge of the blanket of any imaginary wrinkles. 

“You want some company?” The man asked, and Percy knew a non-request when he heard it. 

Savage was tall and broad and muscular, with a square face and hooded eyes, so unlike Severus, equally dissimilar to Lucius. But Percy could pretend. He was good at that. 

“Don’t kiss me,” He whispered, staring up at the Auror. Savage’s grin broadened as he leaned forward, his greedy hands groping and dragging at Percy until the slimmer man struggled away. Before Savage could protest Percy grasped at the man’s hand and dragged him to the bathroom. He was dressed in rags and covered in eighteen months worth of filth and he didn’t want Savage to be here longer than necessary. “Come into the shower.”

It was cramped, more cramped than it had been with Severus, but Savage didn’t seem to care as he grasped Percy’s slick hips, feeling him up as Percy scrubbed at his red curls. There was nothing arousing to Percy, but he closed his eyes and folded his arms against the tile, resting his forehead on a wrist, and waited. 

The hurt was the first thing that struck Percy, but it was a familiar hurt, grounding even as it burned and made him gasp and choke on his breaths. Lucius had never been gentle with him and as Percy grunted and pressed his arms to the chill of the tiled wall he tried to relax, to allow Savage whatever he wanted. Percy kept his eyes closed, let himself go limp in the man’s demanding, controlling grip, and thought of Severus. 

Severus who had always been so careful with him, but sometimes, so rarely that Percy treasured it, lost himself to passion. Severus who looked at Percy as if he was the man’s sole purpose for living, for drawing another breath. Severus with his dark eyes and dark hair and severe features but who kissed Percy as if his mouth held the last antidote to a poison that was killing the man from the inside out. 

“Severus,” Percy sobbed into his arms, his shoulders heaving as he felt hot tears leak from his eyes. 

Savage groaned and shoved Percy’s head further against the tile, grunting as he came, spilling inside Percy before he pulled back. Percy’s legs gave out and he slumped onto the floor of the shower. 

“Get out.”

“With pleasure.” Savage sneered, and when he stepped out of the shower Percy waited until he had heard the man dress, then the pop of apparition, before he allowed himself to curl up in the bottom of the shower, hot water still pounding upon his back as he let out a ragged sob.

When the water went cold Percy gathered himself and straightened, climbing out of the shower. He stared at the towels for a long moment, dripping wet and shivering in the draft of the house before he finally grabbed a clean one from the cabinet and dried off, moving to the bedroom. He found some of his clothes in the dresser still, folded neatly, and donned the soft, worn fabric of his sleep shirt and underwear. He stared at his reflection in the mirror mounted behind the dresser and thought of the strange mirror he had seen in his fifth year, how it had shown Severus standing beside him, and he quietly wished, with every fiber of his being, to see the man’s face one last time, to hear his voice saying sweet nothings, to feel his cool, calloused fingers on his cheeks. 

As if drawn by an invisible force, Percy turned from the mirror and opened the closet doors. There, hanging within on a few stray hangers, were Severus’ black robes, embroidered with protective spells, the cloth thick and durable, protective against the elements and damage. Gathering one hanger gently, tenderly, Percy laid it out upon Severus’ half of the bed, resting the shoulders of his robes over the pillow that still bore the smell of Severus’ hair. It was silly, and he knew it was, but he didn’t resist pressing his face to the worn, warm wool, to the scent of potions material and fire and ash and the man’s _skin_ that had somehow been perfectly preserved under the stasis charm placed on the house. 

Tears rolled down Percy’s cheeks and he sniffled and sobbed softly into the fabric, clutching at it and wishing beyond all hope that this pain would pass. 

After a moment he began to speak, softly, his voice wavering with emotion. “If Rikki-tikki had only known, he was doing a much more dangerous thing that fighting Nag, for Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return-stroke in his eye or lip.”

* * *

The door to 14 Spinner’s End had five locks on it. Two magical, three muggle. When Percy peered through the peep hole at the earnest face of Harry Potter standing on his doorstep he sighed and undid all of them, letting the door swing open just enough for Potter to enter. 

“Sorry I didn’t come by sooner,” Harry whispered as he looked at Percy. “I wasn’t informed of when you were released.”

“It’s fine,” Percy whispered. “Tea?”

He still had Bathilda’s tea set and he made tea the muggle way, boiling a kettle on the stove. 

“Your wand wasn’t returned to you?”

“My wand was a stolen wand,” Percy sighed as he stood in the piss yellow kitchen, trying not to look at Harry.

“You weren’t given an allowance.”

“I didn’t take it,” He shrugged and scooped three spoonfuls of tea into the pot. One for Percy, one for Harry, one for the pot.

“Why not?”

“What business is it of yours?” Percy scowled at Harry as the kettle began to whistle. He poured the boiling water into the pot and let the tea steep. “I’m alive, you can clear your conscience and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“I don’t want you to be miserable and alone,” Harry whispered and Percy glared at him quietly, looking away. “Don’t shut me out, Percy, I understand what you’re-”

“You understand what I’m going through?” Percy laughed as he poured each of them a cup. “The Great and Beloved Harry Potter understands what I’m going through? He understands that I’ve lost the only person who gave a single _fuck_ about me, but it’s alright because what?” Percy glared at Harry. “My family is so loving and understanding? My family hates me. I’m a blight on the Weasley name. I have no friends, all of my friends from school likely hate me. My work colleagues sentenced me to a decade in Azkaban and then only changed their minds because of you. The Death Eaters? I’d rather die than call them my friends.” 

Harry stared at him and Percy could see the pity in his eyes. “Percy-”

“You know why I didn’t get another wand?” Percy whispered. “Because it’s useless. Because I _failed_ the only man I’ve ever loved.” He choked on the last word, placing the teacup down and shaking as he stared at it. “I placed a blood spell on him and it _failed_.”

Silence, and then Harry whispered softly, “What?”

Percy stood, grabbing the diary where he had made notes in the quiet of Malfoy Manor’s library, pouring over dark and ancient texts. “A spell of blood protection.” Percy choked out, showing the diagram he had drawn of Severus’ chest, of the lines and runes he would need to draw to place him under the protection of Percy’s blood, of family ties. “I cast it on Ostara, in the eleventh hour, using my blood, invoking the name of my oldest ancestor, and it _failed_.” His shoulders hunched as he clutched at the pages of the diary. “ _I_ failed him.”

The only sound in the room was Percy’s ragged breathing, trying to contain his sobs, and then Harry spoke. “I’m sorry, Percy. I didn’t know.” Percy was quietly grateful that Harry didn’t reach out to him, trying to touch him. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Just leave me alone, Potter,” Percy whispered, looking up at Harry with reddened eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just leave me here.”

* * *

_Dear Mister Weasley_

_I am writing to request your assistance in a matter of great importance and controversy within the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Despite his rather sudden and tumultuous tenure as Headmaster it has finally been agreed by the Board and Staff of Hogwarts that a portrait is to be made a hung of one Severus Snape. The unfortunate part of this undertaking is that, regrettably, very few have been substantially close to the late Headmaster Snape to give an adequate rendering of his character and personality to the artist. I wonder if you might be willing to speak to the artist on the subject of Headmaster Snape in order for his character to be given the justice it deserves._

_I await your response,_   
_Minerva McGonagall_   
_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_Dear Minerva_

_I will sit for the artist and speak on Severus’ character. I only ask that I be given a moment alone with the portrait after it has been hung._

_Kind regards,_   
_Percival Weasley_

* * *

“Mister Weasley?” The artist was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with skin the color of ebony, her silver hair shaved close to her head and her lips painted a bright, vibrant red. “I’m Antipode Farah, the artist commissioned by Professor McGonagall?”

Percy opened the door to Spinner’s End more fully, stepping aside silently as the woman swept in, charming her cloak to stand on its own beside the door. “Welcome to Cokeworth, Miss Farah.” Percy gestured to the one chair in the sitting room, Severus’ chair, and folded his arms over his chest, nervous and self-conscious. “Tea?”

“Whiskey if you’d like, you look like you need it.” She set up her canvas, her paints and brushes, everything floating around her idly, waiting to be of service. 

Percy poured them each a finger of Severus’ firewhiskey, adjusting the small glass bottles shaped like rats and bats and cats, emptied of their liquor but still kept out of sentimentality. He looked at the canvas and frowned. There was barely a sketch, blotchy swathes of paint over a faint pencil outline. 

“I was under the impression you’d spoken to Severus’ colleagues? To Harry Potter?”

“They didn’t know him very well,” Antipode said as she began to mix paints. “There’s an art to magical portraits, it’s not necessarily my magic that makes them move, but the story of the subject that gives them life. Oh, if I paint a rhinoceros and pour everything that I _know_ about a rhinoceros into that painting then I’ll get a very believable beast, but it’s not the same with people. To understand a person, to pour everything I know about them into a painting, I have to speak to people who knew the subject, inside and out.” She smiled at Percy, a close-lipped expression with a curious gleam in her eye. “I get the feeling that Severus Snape was a private man, even to his colleagues and certainly to Mister Potter.”

Percy looked down at his glass and took a silent sip, leaning against the shelf of books. “He was a private man. He… He was so scared of letting people in.” Percy ran his thumb over the edge of the glass idly. “But we were in a war and we were… We were spies, we couldn’t allow ourselves too many moments of weakness.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, that’s probably not helpful.”

Antipode’s smile turned gentle, “Go on, just tell me about him, everything you can think of.”

“This house was his, you know,” Percy gestured around them. “He grew up here, in Cokeworth, he hated it, hated the people, but he bought this house to save his parents from becoming destitute. I don’t know where they are now, he never spoke of them, but he… He stayed here.” Percy looked at the spines of books, pressing his hand to one, a copy of The Jungle Books that was bound in green cloth and had been read endlessly by the man. “He loved Hogwarts, it was the place where he last had any good memories and he stayed there to help Dumbledore’s efforts in the Wars.”

“Go on, Mister Weasley.”

It was dark by the time Antipode finished the portrait. Percy had spoken for hours, at one point continuing as he made cottage pie in the kitchen, even through serving slices for himself and Antipode. He spoke of Severus’ love of cats, of his patronus and Percy’s, how the man had called him a mongoose once and Percy had realized only too late what it meant for the man’s patronus to take that form while Percy’s took the form of a bat. He told Antipode of the mirror he had found in the castle once, and how he had heard Severus’ voice whispering about how he didn’t deserve whatever his heart’s desire had been, how he had never asked the man what he had seen, for fear of the answer. 

He told her about arguments they had, about how Severus had always tried to protect Percy by keeping him in the dark, and then had given him the truth, with all the horror it entailed. He told her about Severus’ love of teaching and forming young minds, even if he hated children with a passion, how every textbook he owned was covered in so much red ink it looked as if he had opened an artery over the pages. 

Late into the night, when the air was still, Percy spoke about how Severus had kissed him as if he never wanted to kiss another. How he had felt so safe cradled in the man’s arms, even when their every move could bring them devastation. He whispered, barely breathing, about Severus’ love for Albus Dumbledore, how killing the man had killed something in Severus’ own soul. 

“It’s almost done,” Antipode finally said, smiling at Percy. “It’ll be ready for Hogwarts next week, if you want to go see it?”

Percy looked at the still portrait, his eyes scanning over his lover’s face. He reached out hesitantly, tracing his fingers just over the surface of the painting, careful not to touch the drying paint. “His eyes are perfect.”

Antipode smiled and cast a stasis charm on the painting, packing it and her supplies up. “I’ll write you when it’s installed at Hogwarts, Minerva said you wanted to see the final results?”

“Thank you.” Percy gave a weak smile, the first of the entire day, and led Antipode out the door.

* * *

The painting was perfect, placed beside Albus Dumbledore’s own snoozing portrait. Severus held a book in his hand and Percy felt tears in his eyes as those dark eyes looked up at him. Percy stood, dressed all in black, among the faculty of Hogwarts as Antipode hung the portrait with a permanent sticking charm. The man in the painting glared at all of them, but didn’t say anything as they greeted him, smiling and speaking of how grateful they were for his brave deeds and works. 

Percy said nothing while the others were there, tears brimming in his eyes. Minerva must have seen one of them rolling down his cheek, because in a moment she ushered the others out of the office, with the excuse that there were other matters to discuss before dinner and Percy could be left alone for a moment with the portrait.

The door clicked shut, and a shuddering breath he had been holding passed his lips. “Hello, Severus,” He whispered, choking on the greeting.

“Percy,” The man breathed, and Percy felt a stab of agony in his chest as the man stood from his seat in the portrait and came closer to the frame, as if he could reach through and touch Percy. He held up his hand and pale, shaking fingers pressed to the canvas, tracing Severus’ face, his hair, his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“You look so real,” Percy whimpered, feeling tears running down his face. He was grateful that Minerva had left him alone in the Headmistress’ office, he couldn’t stand her seeing him so weak. “You look perfect.”

“You provided Antipode with this image of me,” Severus smiled, staring at Percy. “Your stories, your love, it gave me life.”

He couldn’t handle it anymore, staring at Severus’ face, at the man’s smile, Percy sank to his knees, sobbing softly. “I can’t do this anymore, Severus.” He shook with the force of his cries, of his pain. “I can’t, I thought that I was strong, but I can’t, not without you, I never wanted to live without you.” Green eyes looked up at Severus. “How could you do this after Lily died? How could you move on?”

Silence, the portrait staring down at him, and the man whispered, softly, barely audible over Percy’s own cries. “I didn’t. Not until I met you.”

Percy’s head met stone and he sobbed into the smooth, worn floor, his nails dug into his scalp, trying to draw himself out of his mourning. “Severus, Severus, please, I can’t - I can’t, I’m not that strong.”

“You should live, Percy, I gladly gave my life so that you could live.”

Percy shook his head, choking on his breath as he looked up at the portrait, his tears streaming down his face as he pushed his fingers beneath his glasses to wipe the dampness away. “I can’t, not without you.”

There was a knock on the door and Percy jumped, scrubbing at his face before he sniffled and straightened, stumbling to his feet just as the door opened. Minerva stood, looking at Percy with a pitying gaze. “Mister Weasley?” She called out gently, taking in his wrecked appearance. “Would you like to stay for the Imbolc Feast? There is a seat for you at the staff table.”

He didn’t think he could eat, but he didn’t want to leave the castle grounds, not yet. “Of course, Minerva.” He whispered weakly. “But I really must go after the Feast.”

Dinner was beautiful, the house elves had really outdone themselves. Winky had popped by, smiling up at Percy and asking him how he was getting on, if he had seen “Master Bartimeus Crouch Junior” while in Azkaban and how he was getting on. Percy didn’t have the heart to tell her that Barty Crouch Junior had been given the Dementor’s Kiss long before Percy had arrived at the prison.

“He was a few cells away from me, Winky, but at last check he was still hurling invective at every Auror that came to the prison.” Percy lied gently, smiling at the house elf as she chattered on about how much she loved her Master and hoped he’d come to find her again one day and take her away from Hogwarts. “I’m sure he will,” Percy gave her a soft smile, reaching out to give one of her great bat-like ears a gentle stroke. “He loves you very much.”

“It seems cruel to tell her such things, Percy,” Minerva chided gently, and Percy sipped on some wine, pushing his barely-eaten food around his plate with a fork. “What is the use of it?”

“I’m sparing her heartbreak,” Percy whispered as he took a bite of roast beef, but it tasted like nothing on his tongue. “She loves him, adores him, even though he did horrible things, even though he was a criminal.” He could tell some of the other staff members were listening, straining to overhear his quiet words, horrible gossips that they were. “He would never be released anyway, why not give her hope that he might come for her, like a knight in shining armor?”

Minerva was quiet in the chatter of students in the Great Hall, and Percy knew that rumors would spread endlessly through the night about him. He had read Rita Skeeter’s garbage about Severus, everyone knew his face now. 

“You’re very kind, Percival,” She whispered, an attempt at condolence.

“I am not,” Percy shrugged. “I merely told her what I wished someone had told me when I woke in St. Mungo’s.” He stood, his chair scraping behind him, and cleared his throat. “I apologize, I really must be getting back to Spinner’s End.”

“So soon?” Minerva asked, her brows furrowed. 

“Unfortunately,” Percy smiled. “I’ll leave through your office, say one last goodbye to Severus?”

Minerva’s eyes softened and she nodded. “Of course, Percy, as long of a goodbye as you’d like.”

Percy gave her cheek a kiss farewell, told her to give his regards to Molly and Arthur, and strode out of the Great Hall at a brisk pace.

He had made it only past the doors when a young first year came racing up to him, her eyes wide as she clutched at her cloak, fluttering behind her like little bat wings. “Mister Weasley!” She shouted, and Percy frowned, turning to look at her. “Mister Weasley, you don’t know me, I’m Prudence Burbage.”

A stab of pain shot through his chest and Percy gave a weak smile to her. “Prudence, your mother was one of my favourite professors.”

“Dad said she was a great woman, even if he didn’t know half of the witchy stuff,” The girl’s blonde hair was frizzy and coiled tightly about her hair and she had a gap-toothed smile that was all charm. She wore Hufflepuff robes and Percy couldn’t help but think that Charity Burbage would be proud of her. “I just… I wanted to ask you some things, Mister Weasley, if that’s alright?”

“Hmm,” Percy folded his hands before his stomach and nodded, slowing his pace to accommodate the girl’s shorter strides. “What questions do you have, Prudence?”

“I’ve read Rita Skeeter’s book about Headmaster Snape,” The girl said. “And she wrote a lot of nasty things about you.”

“Rita Skeeter writes many nasty things about many people,” Percy agreed. “Regardless of the truth of them.”

“But he was a hero, and so were you, but… Why didn’t you tell anyone what side you were on?” The girl looked up at him and her eyes were so blue, just like her mother’s, and so curious. “Why didn’t you tell Headmaster Dumbledore or Harry Potter that you were helping them?”

Percy smiled as they stood just at the entrance to the great courtyard of the castle, looking down at the girl. “That is a very astute question, Prudence, are you sure you aren’t a Slytherin?”

Prudence smiled toothily. “Almost was, told the hat to pick something else.”

“As you should when you are confronted with the Sorting Hat’s choice,” Percy led the girl into the courtyard, and then to the Sabbat henge that stood overlooking Hagrid’s hut and the side of the mountain. “Why do you think I didn’t tell anyone?”

“I think…” Prudence stepped carefully over some runes carved into the stone ground, observing them slowly as she chewed over the question. “I think that you were scared of what might happen to the people you cared about if Vol-Voldemort found out. I think that you did the same thing that Mum did with Dad and I and lied, told people that we weren’t her family, so that we’d be safe.”

“Very good,” Percy smiled softly as he looked at the girl. “If anyone knew my true allegiance they’d tell Voldemort, and Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to protect my family, he could barely protect Harry Potter or himself in the end. I placed my faith in Headmaster Snape, and he never failed me, not once.” After a moment he knelt down before Prudence, staring at her big blue eyes. “Your mother would be so proud of you, Prudence, and regardless of what she told people, you are her daughter, through and through.”

Thin, short arms wrapped around his shoulders and Percy grunted at the impact of the small body. He returned the hug gently, only releasing the girl when she started to pull back. “You look very sad, Mister Weasley.” She whispered. 

“I am a very sad person, Prudence,” Percy felt tears in his eyes. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Headmaster Snape, you should go off to bed.”

“Alright,” The girl looked at him, uncertain and worried. “Goodbye, Mister Weasley.”

“Goodbye, Prudence Burbage.”

She left, and Percy stood, tilting his head to the sky as he felt snow starting to drift down, catching on his eyelashes as the January chill bit through his robes. He marched down the snowy mountainside and around Hagrid’s cottage, into the Forbidden Forest. 

Thestrals resided near graveyards, not for any malicious reasons, merely because those who could see them would often visit the beloved dead and therefore would offer the Thestrals more company. Percy followed one with her colt until they came upon the Hogwarts graveyard. Many professors and headmasters had asked to be laid to rest on the grounds. Percy knew for a fact that Professor Binns had been buried here, among the numerous monuments, due to one particular detention in his first year where he had to help Filch clean the graves for their weekly seeing to. 

Clearly the man had not been there for the week, as Severus’ grave had a dripping red stain of “traitor” written on it. There was also the Dark Mark scrawled clumsily alongside a few less legible words. Percy knelt, taking his sleeve, and scrubbed at the paint, the friction smearing it and then the snow that Percy rubbed across the stone washing it away. 

It was a simple gravesite, plain white marble, with Severus’ name, date of birth and death, and the dates of his tenure at Hogwarts. No one had known what to write as an epitaph, it seemed. He lit a cigarette and stood over the grave, smoking down the muggle menthol cigarette slowly, savoring it, before he crushed the filter beneath his shoe into the snow and moved closer to the grave.

Percy sat beside the grave, his cheek resting upon cold marble and let out a shuddering breath before he started to tell the tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi, reciting it by heart. It was dark, and cold, and the snow seemed to glow, even without the moonlight. An inch piled up around Percy, then another, his fingers and toes growing cold, and then feeling strangely warm as his teeth chattered and he continued to tell the story despite his eyes growing heavy and his breaths labored as his heart struggled to keep beating.

“Rikki-tikki put his paws one on each side of the egg… The egg… And his eyes were blood-red. “What price for a snake's egg? For a… young cobra? For a young king-cobra? For the last… the very last of the brood? The ants are eating… all the others down by the melon-bed.”…” Percy let out a shuddering breath that barely formed a mist around his face as he stared down at Severus’ grave. “Nagaina spun clear round… forgetting everything for… for the sake of the one egg… And… and Rikki-tikki…”

* * *

“Headmistress McGonagall?” The woman looked up at Flich’s gruff voice, the man holding Mrs. Norris in his arms, stroking her chin in a way that she had long learned was as much a comfort to him as it was to the cat.

“What is it, Argus?”

“There’s been an incident,” Filch cleared his throat. “Some Gryffindor Second years went to the graveyard in the Forbidden Forest, last night and they found something quite disturbing.”

“What was it?” Minerva straightened, placing her quill down as she stood and bustled around the edge of the great desk in her office. 

Filch glanced up at the portraits, then at Minerva. “You best come see for yourself, ma’am.”

Minerva’s lips pinched tightly and she grasped the caretaker’s arm, abusing the right of the Headmistress to apparate as she needed in the castle’s grounds. When they stood in the graveyard her eyes scanned the area quickly, before they landed on what had so disturbed the second years and Argus Filch. 

The unmistakable face of Percy Weasley rested, frozen and covered in frost, entirely lifeless, against the headstone of Severus Snape. His arm was encircled around the headstone, his eyes wide open as they stared into a middle distance, his lips parted, and his legs sprawled out beside the grave. If Minerva hadn’t known better she’d have thought he was part of the monument to the errant Headmaster he was so pale and still. 

“Kemp’s Curse, Argus, how long has he been here?” She asked softly, kneeling beside the poor boy’s body. Even his hair was frozen stiff and when Minerva grasped at his cloak it crunched with frost in her grip.

“That level of frost, he’s been here for days,” Filch cleared his throat. “I wager he never left the grounds after the Imbolc Feast.”

Minerva hadn’t asked the portrait of Severus about Percy’s goodbye, she had assumed he’d be too private to tell her any details of his conversation with the young man. She wished she had, now that she stared at the body that had clearly frozen to death on the grounds. “Did you find anything on him?”

“Didn’t want to disturb him until you’d given the order,” Filch let Mrs. Norris jump from his arms, the cat solemnly sitting beside him as he knelt on crackling knees and began to go through Percy’s pockets. “No wand.”

“No… No wand?” Minerva stared down at Percy with a pained look. Filch pulled a silver cigarette case with the Malfoy crest engraved into it from the boy’s pockets, and when Minerva opened it there was one missing. “The poor boy.”

“Found a note,” Argus held it up to Minerva. It was sealed with plain wax and when Minerva opened it her heart broke even more for the boy. 

_Minerva,_

_Please inform Molly and Arthur that they will not have to worry about me coming around anymore. I know they’ve been dreading it since my release. My estate has been left to Harry Potter, there is proper legal documentation filed with the Cokeworth local attorneys Baxter Baker and Bruce. Apologize to Argus Filch for me, I know he will be the one to find me._

_Tell Severus that I wasn’t strong enough and that I’m sorry, but this is really for the best. Neither of us expected to survive the war anyway._

_Kind regards,_   
_Percival Weasley_


	9. Drapetomania: (n.) an overwhelming urge to run away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Weasley and New Life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ending where both Severus and Percy live.
> 
> For Alternate Endings reference these chapters:  
> Pyrrhic: Both Severus and Percy die.  
> Hiraeth: Percy lives, Severus dies.  
> Anacampserote: Severus lives, Percy dies.

St. Mungo’s always had been and always would be the worst place to wake up. Percy remembered falling from the old oak tree in their garden, long turned into a new wing for Ron and Ginny, and waking up with a broken arm in St. Mungo’s with his mother fussing and arguing with the healers. The sound of Molly Weasley’s frantic voice is absent, though, and when Percy manages to get some stock of his surroundings he finds his wrist tied by a hanging rope to the side of the hospital bed. 

“Severus,” He calls out softly, but no one responds and panic grips him. “Severus!” His voice cracks and the word is jumbled but he tries to roll over, but the rope holds him fast. 

The curtain surrounding his bed is pulled back and a healer comes in with a team of orderlies and Percy can’t help but wonder if this was all for show as four perfectly healthy young men and women were ordered to hold him down.

“Severus, where’s Severus?” Percy tried to claw at the hanging rope, but his fingers had no coordination and his tongue was like lead in his mouth. 

“Take this, Mister Weasley, it will help,” The healer was holding out a potion bottle and Percy flailed, trying to slap it away. 

“No, where’s Severus, tell me where he is!” Percy strained and struggled, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s familiar dark head. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “He’s dead.”

“Mister Weasley, please, this will be easier for everyone if you don’t struggle,” The healer drew her wand and Percy looked up at the woman and felt so… Utterly defeated. 

“No,” He whispered, shaking his head. “Just let me die… If… If Severus is dead, please, just let me die.”

The healer didn’t accept that and in a moment a thumb is jammed into his jaw, forcing his mouth open so that the potion can be poured down his throat. The fact that he didn’t choke on or inhale it is probably due to a spell not taught at Hogwarts for fear of student misuse. Percy didn’t have time to think about that, not when he fell into oppressive darkness once more.

The next time he woke he was allowed to maintain consciousness. Percy Weasley, golden student of Hogwarts, proceeded to make his continued existence the problem of every member of the St. Mungo’s staff that came to him. From demanding nearly nonstop to see Severus, to speak to someone, to outright making a healer cry with the vicious invective he threw at her after tossing a lunch tray at the door. No one could get him to stop, not the head healer, not his mother when she came to visit him, not even the Auror that was summoned when Percy had violently kicked an orderly that had tried to convince Percy to use a bedpan. 

“I want to speak to Severus, I need to see him!”

A week after he had woken, he was escorted out of his hospital room on legs that wobbled like a newborn colt and delivered to a new hospital room where a familiar dark head was resting on a veritable mountain of pillows.

“Severus,” Percy whispered, his fingers shaking as they combed through the man’s hair. They both continued to wear the hanging rope, but Severus was breathing and staring up at him with intelligence and comprehension. 

“You’ve been shaved,” Severus murmured and Percy smiled as he kissed his lover’s lips softly.

“The orderlies make sure to keep me groomed, it looks like they do the same with you,” Severus’ hair was washed, his face shaved, and while he looked thin, it was no worse than usual. Percy frowned as he saw that Severus’ nails, usually polished with a black hardening mixture were cleaned and filed down from their usual points.

“I’ve been told that you have been a right hellion since you woke,” Severus drew Percy close with a weakly shaking arm about the young man’s waist. 

“As if you won’t be the same once you’re able to piss and shit on your own,” Percy scoffed, his voice thick and tears in his eyes even as he smiled at the man. “I thought… I was so scared you were dead.”

Severus cupped Percy’s pale jaw in his palm, stroking a thumb over the sharp bone of a faintly freckled cheek and that was what broke him. Percy hid his face in the man’s neck, sobbing softly as he pressed a hidden kiss to the jagged bite marks Nagini left in the man’s tender neck. 

“Um, Professor Snape, P-Percy?” A soft, familiar voice called, and Percy pulled back, looking over his shoulder at the door. 

Harry Fucking Potter was there, staring awkwardly at the two of them. “There’s… There’s a few questions that you’re about to be asked, but I’ll be a witness for both of you.”

“How much will that cost me, Potter?” Severus managed to glare down his nose at the boy, but it didn’t have the same effect when he was dressed in a backless hospital gown and compression socks up to his knees. 

“Nothing, nothing, I…” Harry hesitated before he held out a small vial, placing it on Severus’ side table. “I saw what you did. What you both did.”

Percy looked down, immediately averting his gaze from Harry’s. “I’m not sure what you will be able to do for either of us. We likely will be sentenced to Azkaban at best, to be kissed by Dementors at worst.”

Severus’ hand weakly clutched at Percy’s hand and Harry was silent before he spoke up, “I will testify on your behalf. You two should be treated like heroes.”

“Thank you, Potter,” Severus said simply, clearly not in any condition to argue with the boy as he closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry stepped back from the two of them and Percy clambered into Severus’ bed, curling up against the man’s side until they were both crammed into the narrow hospital bed. “I’ll be back, Professor, Percy.” He left, and closed the door behind him, the Aurors thankfully remaining outside to converse with the Savior Of The Wizarding World.

“How long have you been awake?” Percy asked softly. 

“Only a few hours,” Severus rested a trembling hand on Percy’s head. “The healers weren’t sure that I’d survive long enough to wake up.” Percy’s arms clutched tighter to the man, his lips pressed to the scar on the man’s neck. “How long have you been awake?”

“A week,” Percy clutched at him. “No one would tell me anything about you. I thought… I thought you were dead.”

There was too much space between them and Percy curled closer to the man, their bodies molded until there was no more space between them. He slid one hand under Severus’ shirt and traced his fingers over the lines of scars there. His blood spell had clearly worked, even if it had only saved Severus once from death. The raw scars of symbols caught on the pads of Percy’s fingers and he leaned in to give a soft kiss to Severus’ thin chest before he rested his head right over the man’s steady heartbeat. The healers came and tried to convince Percy out of the other patient’s bed, but Severus’ arm refused to move from the grip about Percy’s waist and the two quietly glared at the St. Mungo’s staff until they were left in relative peace.

* * *

“You are Percival Ignatius Weasley, of The Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, correct?”

“Yes,” Percy stared up at Kingsley Shacklebolt as the man looked down at him from the seat of Minister of Magic. Pius had been killed, Percy had been informed, and he had been replaced by Shacklebolt, who Percy had always considered fair, if biased and painfully loyal to Dumbledore. Flashbulbs went off and Percy knew that there were hundreds of reporters, witnesses, and even his own family sitting surrounding him as he stood trial, but he couldn’t think of them. Of any of them. All he could think of was Severus, who had faced trial before him, and how they could be separated once more, permanently. 

“You stand before the Wizengamot today accused of the willful and premeditated murder of Rufus Scrimgeour, as well as the practice of Dark Arts in the service of Lord Voldemort.” Shacklebolt looked down at Percy with a frown. “How do you plead?”

He stood in the the too-small cage that had held him years ago at his hearing regarding Barty Crouch Senior’s untimely demise, the hanging rope binding his wrists, and he knew that this time… This time there would be no mercy. There would be no Lucius Malfoy to handwave and buy Percy’s freedom. “Guilty,” Percy whispered, his heart pounding. 

“Louder for the court scribe, Mister Weasley,” Shacklebolt called.

“I plead guilty,” He stared up at the man, his voice rising to be heard over the ripple of murmurs and shouts of the gathered crowd. 

“Order in the court!” Shacklebolt barked, pounding his gavel. 

“Witness for the Defense!” A familiar voice called and Percy glared as Harry Potter himself stepped forward, staring up at Shacklebolt defiantly. “Harry James Potter.”

“Mister Potter, what do you bring before the court?”

“I bring this,” Harry held up the battered, destroyed remnants of Tom Riddle’s Diary and Percy reeled away from it, causing the cage to rattle and sway as he tried to escape the cursed item. 

“Get that thing away from me!” He hissed, his shoes unable to get any purchase on the bottom of the cage as panic gripped him. “Get it away!”

“This was a horcrux, containing the soul of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort,” Harry explained as he placed the diary in front of Shacklebolt. “I destroyed it in my second year of Hogwarts, not realizing fully what it was. Percy Weasley was possessed by it for nearly a year, resulting in the petrifications of several students, a ghost, and Mrs. Norris.”

“Who is Mrs. Norris? She is staff?”

“She is the caretaker’s cat,” Harry explained before he gestured to the diary. “Might I examine the Defense?”

“You may, Mister Potter, but may Mister Weasley please be advised that as you are not true legal representation that he is not required to answer any of your questions,” Shacklebolt looked at Percy with an arched brow.

“I am aware of my rights,” Percy said simply, looking at Harry even as he remained pressed as far away from the diary as he could. 

“In your own words, Mister Weasley, please tell us how you came into the possession of this diary,” Harry held up the destroyed book and Percy took a deep breath.

“I was not the intended recipient of the diary. It was placed in my little sister’s cauldron by Lucius Malfoy during an altercation with my father at Flourish and Blotts. I needed a new diary for the school year and could not afford one, so I convinced my sister it was not actually meant to be hers and took it. During the beginning of the school year I found that writing in the diary did not record my classes or schedule or notes, but instead allowed me to communicate with someone that at the time I only knew to be Tom Marvolo Riddle…”

Everything spilled from Percy’s lips. The blackouts, his unfortunate discovery of the rooster he had killed, even how he had destroyed Harry’s own bed when he discovered the Diary had found a new owner after his attempts to get rid of it. He hesitated, looking down at his hands when he came to his return to Diagon Alley after that summer. 

“And then, Percy?” Harry gently prompted and Percy took a deep, steadying breath.

“I went to Knockturn Alley… To Borgin and Burkes.” 

“And what did you find there?”

“I found the book Secrets of the Darkest Art. I… I was confronted by Professor Severus Snape, and in the confusion I stole the book from Mister Borgin. I needed to know what had happened to me. I was…” Percy worked his jaw and glanced at Shacklebolt, then looked back at Harry. “I was hearing Tom’s voice. I couldn’t escape it, and I was terrified. Professor Snape provided me with a lifeline that I was desperate for, allowed me to read the book in his offices after school to try and puzzle out my own life. I discovered horcruxes during that time.”

“This is that book, correct?” Harry reached into his bag, a bag that had once been Percy’s own, given to Ron in the heat of the battle of the Department of Mysteries. 

“Correct,” Percy whispered, staring at the cover. 

“How did you lose possession of it?” Harry asked, staring up at Percy with an attempt at a reassuring smile. 

“I did not lose it,” Percy said simply. “I gave it to my brother, Ronald Weasley, knowing that he, against all fucking reason, was still a very good friend of yours and… According to Sev - Professor Snape’s conversations with Dumbledore, was helping you try to seek out Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

Harry drew out another item from the bag and Percy’s expression softened before he could stop himself. “Percy, could you tell me what this is?”

“It’s a scroll case.” Percy bit his lip before he sighed and explained further. “I enchanted it at the end of my third year at Hogwarts so that it would work much like a vanishing cabinet. There is a twin that it has and I was able to send confidential messages via that scroll case to the other.”

“Who has the twin of this scroll case?”

“Severus Snape had it, I’m sure it has now been confiscated by the Ministry,” Percy wrung his fingers. “When Professor Snape was Headmaster Snape I used his own case to send messages to that one, hoping that my brother had maintained possession of it.”

“That’s not everything you did, isn’t it?” Harry smiled and Percy worked his jaw. “You delivered the Sword of Gryffindor to me in the Forest of Dean.”

“Yes.” Percy whispered. “I… I summoned it from the Sorting Hat and… And Severus and I placed it in the lake.”

“Why?” Harry asked, and it was such a simple question that it confounded Percy as he blinked at the young man. “You were both Death Eaters, sworn to Voldemort. You did all of this at great personal risk. So I ask again: Why?”

Tears rolled down Percy’s face and he stared at Harry silently, listening to the murmurs of the crowd around them. “I was scared.” He whispers, and swallows, before he said softly. “I was scared that he’d win. That… That you wouldn’t figure it all out. Ron was… Ron was with you and Ginny was at Hogwarts and Severus-” His voice cracked and Percy crumpled. “I wanted to die. He thought I was a horcrux. He was going to - he was going to take my body and lock me away, like he did when I had the diary, but it would be forever.” You could hear a pin drop in the courtroom outside of Percy’s ragged sobs. “I was going to die. I knew I was. I deserved it for everything I did, but I… I needed you to win.” Percy stared at Harry, green eyes meeting green. “Even this, here, now… This is better than the fate that would have awaited me at the hands of Tom Riddle.”

* * *

The Wizengamot deliberated their cases for a week. In that time Percy and Severus were placed in a holding cell at the Ministry, allowed to share one cell with a bunk bed, a toilet, a sink, and nothing else. 

No one visited them. Perhaps because no one was allowed to, or no one cared to.

On the seventh day they were summoned together to the courtroom. They were bound with hanging ropes, but were relinquished from their cages, instead sat on a pair of solid chairs next to one another. Percy refused to release Severus’ hand as they sat, staring up at the Wizengamot, avoiding the reporters with their flashbulbs. 

“Severus Tobias Snape and Percival Ignatius Weasley, you two have stood trial for a multitude of crimes, each one horrific in their effects and devastation that they have wrought than the last.” Severus bowed his head, but Percy raised his chin defiantly, glaring up at Shacklebolt as the man spoke. “However… As the Ressurectionists say: May he without sin cast the first stone.”

Silence. 

“We have reviewed the evidence, as well as your own memories, which we believe to be the whole truth of the matter. We the Wizengamot find you both to be guilty of innumerable crimes committed in the name of Tom Riddle.” Shacklebolt stared at the two. “Your sentence is two fold. You will be placed under joint house arrest for a decade in 14 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth. During this time you will be bound by hanging ropes and unable to perform magic or brew potions. Your movements will be recorded, and any communication or visitors you have will also be logged. You will also be subjected to random monthly inspections by an assigned Auror.” Percy’s heart was lodged in his throat as he stared up at Shacklebolt and the others of the Wizengamot. “If you both abide by these conditions you will be released at the end of the decade and free to go where you please. Your random inspections will continue once every three months until your deaths.”

Percy was grateful that he was not standing as he slumped against Severus’ shoulder, the man’s arm curling around him tightly, protectively, as flashbulbs went off, practically set out to blind both of them. 

“The cases of Wizarding Britain v. Severus Tobias Snape and Wizarding Britain v. Percival Ignatius Weasley are hereby closed and matter of record.” Shacklebolt pounded his gavel. “You both will be delivered promptly to Spinner’s End. Good luck, gentlemen.”

* * *

The hanging rope had been charmed to look like a simple silver necklace about their necks, which was unusual procedure as usually the ropes were tied and charmed about the wrists of those forced to wear them. According to the rather gruff and displeased Auror that had set them up in Spinner’s End no one at the Ministry trusted them to not hack off an arm or leg to escape. 

There were many visitors in that first month at Spinner’s End. Ministry officials set on ensuring that the two would not run away and were adjusting well enough and disabling the floo network in the sitting room fireplace. Harry Potter even came once, right at the edge of the anti-apparition boundary over the house, and Percy served them tea using Bathilda Bagshot’s old tea set and left Harry and Severus to speak to one another without his presence looming over them.

Harry had dozens of questions about his mother, about Severus’ friendship with her, about his love for her, and Percy knew that Severus wouldn’t appreciate Percy’s eavesdropping on them but he had to know. 

“You loved her,” Harry confirmed at one point.

“I adored your mother. She was my first friend. For the longest time she was my only friend.”

“Why didn’t you…”

“You’re wondering why you are Harry Potter and not Harry Snape?”

“Yes.”

“Because your mother and I found that we wanted different things. She wanted your father. I wanted someone who wanted me.”

“Like Percy?”

“Yes, like Percy.”

“… He’s a prat.”

“I have it on good authority that I am as well.”

“It’s funny, though.”

“What is?”

“You like redheads.”

“Leave, Mister Potter.”

Harry came by a few more times after that, but soon they were left to their own devices. He had offered them a monthly allowance for the first year, and they could not afford to say no, so they accepted it, going with the first of many deposits to the local Lloyds and set up a joint bank account. Percy watched Severus hand the money to the clerk, a positively ancient man with shaking hands that slowly counted out the bills, and then scowled when he was handed a green plastic rectangle. 

“What on earth am I meant to do with this?” He whispered to Severus, turning it over and blinking at the front. “It has my name on it!”

“It’s your bank card, Percy,” Severus patiently explained while he accepted his own bank card much more easily. “You can use it to pay for money.”

“A wallet does much the same.”

“Yes, but this keeps you from needing to carry around cash or change,” Severus was smiling at him and Percy narrowed his eyes at the man. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” He pouted petulantly and Severus led Percy out of the bank branch. 

“Why don’t we get some groceries?”

The only green grocer in the entire town of Cokeworth was a squat, rectangular building called Food Warehouse and Percy found it to be the most unappetizing place he had ever encountered. The lights were obnoxious and gave a weird electric buzz - flourescent Severus had explained - and the food was all packaged in plastic and cardboard and metal tins. Percy had neglected to learn how to cook, his mother had always cooked for him and then later on Malfoy’s house elves, Wormtail, or Severus himself had always made his meals, even if they ended up being uneaten. 

Severus, it seemed, would be picking up the slack for both of them on that front. They bought canned greens, canned corn and peas and soup, canned meat, yeast and other ingredients for bread, some sort of cheap meat called “bologna” and “tasty” cheese and peanut butter and jam. Percy froze in front of the aisle of cereal, taking in the brightly colored boxes designed to lure in children, and Severus sighed, glaring at him, before he picked up a box of plain corn flaked that had a picture of a red and green rooster emblazoned on the front. 

They arrived home, made sandwiches for dinner, and curled up in bed.

* * *

The library offered something called Computer Literacy Classes, and Percy, unable to get a job without knowing what was or how to work a Computer found he didn’t have any translatable skills. So he sat in the dingy, pathetic little public library every Tuesday and Thursday and learned how to work a computer. He even made himself something called an electronic mail and was able to access the internet and look up different things he’d never thought to. 

Percy also used the blocky beige thing to write a curriculum vitae, fudging some aspects and giving references that he knew would never be followed up on. It was Cokeworth, so long as you weren’t drunk or tweaking in the streets you were imminently hire-able. He printed out several copies of the document in the library printers, used his bank card to pay for it (and wasn’t that convenient, his father would be fascinated), and started to apply at every shop up and down the grimy main road of Cokeworth.

He shook hands and introduced himself as, “Percival Weasley, I live on the last house of Spinner’s End” and prayed that no one had seen him before in the windows of the ramshackle house being fucked senseless by what he had quickly learned was the town recluse. He would polish his glasses neatly and wear his best jumper and trousers and try not to feel too vulnerable without the thick swirl of his robes acting as armor around him. Self-consciousness wouldn’t suit a place like Cokeworth, and shabbiness clung to every aspect of the small industrial town so in that respect he blended right into the populace like he had always lived there.

It wasn’t until he made it to the beauty salon, filled with the chemical scent of product and nail polish, that someone seemed to squint at him and say something beyond “we’ll keep your resume on file”. 

“You took up with that teacher, yeah? Severus Snape?”

Percy flushed. “Ah, yes, I’m living with Prof - ah, Mister Snape.”

“Never saw him take up with no one,” The woman snapped her gum and grinned at Percy. “Someone said he’s been fired from his job at that school. What he do, shag a student?” Percy cleared his throat and flushed even more darkly at having been caught out. “Oh my god, _you_ was his student?”

“Trust me, I didn’t fuck him until after I graduated,” Percy managed weakly, even though it was a blatant lie. “He was much too terrifying as a teacher.”

The woman laughed, held out her hand, and he shook it. “I’m Lois, I think I might have a job for you.”

So he started working at the front desk, scheduling appointments and rescheduling cancellations, and building the weekly shifts for the various employees. It was familiar work, even if the environment was different. In the office of Minister of Magic every single person wanted to be considered the most important appointment of the Minister’s day, and he had perfected the art of flattering egos and making middling bureaucrats feel like the Maharaja of their own private kingdom. It was much the same with the women that came to the salon. Every single one was snippy and rude and demanding and Percy had the perfect simpering tone that convinced them that he lived to please them. 

It was exhausting and boring, but it put money in the bank and food on the table. 

The salon closed at six every night and Percy would leave Lois to clean up and lock up, sometimes staying behind for a chat, but by six thirty sharp he’d be in the Matchbox, the London Times in hand along with a ballpoint pen and Severus behind the counter. 

“You know everyone at Hogwarts would have a field day if they could see you now,” Percy swirled a margarita by the stem, looking at the artfully placed piece of lime on the salted rim. Severus was dressed in a tee shirt with The Matchbox written on the front and Bartender written on the back. He wore denim jeans and some simple black loafers and his hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail after one too many arguments with the owner. “Severus Snape, the bat of the dungeons, revered potions master, and bartender.”

Severus picked up a glass from a table, ran his rag over the surface, before he smacked his hand against Percy’s ass where the ginger man was seated at the bar. “A bit of vial A into a glass of solution B. It’s what I do, Percy.” He gave Percy a smug smirk that made Percy pout at him. “I can still make fools do things out of the realm of even their own foolishness with a drop of the right substance. How is _your_ adjustment coming along?”

Percy rolled up his newspaper and leaned over the bar to smack Severus’ own skinny ass. “What exactly is the function of a rubber ducky, Severus? Because Nancy’s brat lost his apparently and has made it the entire salon’s problem. The little monster came howling in on his papa’s hip and was absolutely inconsolable, the entire salon spent half an hour listening to him.”

Severus chuckled. “I take it you and I will not ever be having children?”

The question made Percy’s heart leap into his throat and he stared at the man. The bar was relatively empty, save for one passed out drunk tucked away in a corner, but Percy lowered his voice regardless. “Is that… Something you would consider a possibility?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea. It had never been spoken of before, they had never thought they’d both survive the end of the war. They hadn’t talked about a lot of things.

“I prefer teaching,” Severus shrugged. “Molding and influencing young minds, educating them, but then I get to send them home to their parents.”

Percy didn’t want to feel so relieved. “I feel that I’m… A bit too selfish to have children.” He admitted softly. “There was always the understanding that… After I graduated I’d marry Penelope, or a similarly nice young girl, she’d squeeze out two or three children, and we’d be a picture perfect family.” Percy took a few sips of the margarita and licked his lips of salt. “That all seems so… Far away now.”

They stood in silence, Severus having stopped his cleaning to stare at Percy with those fathomless, unreadable eyes. “I think you’d be a great father, Percy.” He said softly, and Percy glanced away. “But I don’t think either of us want that.”

It was the first conversation of what he was sure would be many more revealing ones.

* * *

The first, and only, time Molly and Arthur came to visit was Yuletide of that first year. They had arrived bearing peace offerings of two hand knitted jumpers (P. For Percy, S. For Severus, Percy’s in a deep burgundy tweed and Severus’ in a black wool), and a feast worth of food. Percy in turn gave Arthur a manual on how to repair ham radios that he had dug out of Mister Cheevers’ garage sale pile months previous and Molly a framed photograph of him and Severus at that year’s Guy Fawkes Night celebration. It didn’t move, and it was strange seeing both of them so stationary, but Percy and Severus had smiled at the camera when Lois had shouted for them to smile as they sat, Percy perched on Severus’ lap holding a sparkler in one hand. They looked happy and Percy had gotten two copies of the snapshot. 

“How are you keeping?” Molly asked gently as she looked around Spinner’s End. Her eyes lingered on the silver necklace that was tight around Percy’s throat, and he shrugged and made them tea on the unreliable stove, filling Bathilda’s teapot with five scoops of tea. One for Molly, fiddling with the framed photograph, one for Arthur, watching him with a stern look, one for Severus, who had escaped to the garden to “tend to the tomatoes” even though there was nothing out there but frost and snow and ice and dead plants, one for Percy, who wanted to be swallowed whole, and one for the pot.

“Would you like the truth?” Percy asked as he fiddled with the gas range, cursing softly as he fumbled for matches. 

“I always want you to tell me the truth, dear,” Molly wrung her fingers and Percy managed to get the stove lit without blowing them all to high heaven. 

“Funny,” Percy muttered to himself as he pulled out Lucius Malfoy’s cigarette case and placed one between his lips. There weren’t any cloves in these ones, but they were menthols and Percy liked the taste and Severus complained about these ones less. “We’re fine, mum.” Percy took a long drag and blew the smoke out the cracked window, the wind howling against the pane. “Severus tends bar down at the Matchbox.”

“No teaching?” Arthur asked, curious despite himself.

Percy stared at Arthur. “I’m very clearly one of his students. No one on the school board would touch him with a ten foot pole and the rumors started flying once people figured out how to count and do basic addition and subtraction.”

It had been a rather nasty rumor that Percy had squashed as soon as he heard about it. It grew and developed into something rather outlandish over time (apparently Percy had been merely a boy of eleven when the wicked and evil Professor Severus Snape had whisked him off to his quarters at the boarding school he taught at) and Percy had viciously denied every insinuation anyone ever made of the man. 

“The house is… Secure?” Molly looked around. 

“It is shelter,” Percy took another drag, savoring the bite of the cigarette. “And Severus owns it outright so we won’t be homeless anytime soon.”

“Percy, I…” Arthur didn’t know what to say and Percy waited, unwilling to fill in the words for him. “I would like to apologize… For what I said when you got your promotion.”

Percy glared at the kettle on the stove rather than at his father. “Did it ever occur to either of you to… Ask me how I was?” He asked softly, refusing to meet their eyes. “I was… I almost died. So many times, but that first time… The Chamber of Secrets…” He looked at the two of them quietly and set his jaw. “You didn’t ever ask me if I was alright, if I needed help. I was fucking drowning and I was so scared and you just… Pretended it never happened.” His heart ached and Percy choked back on a vulnerable little sound. 

“Percy… We didn’t think… You acted like everything was alright. Bill was worried, but he’s always been so worried about you-” Molly cut herself off, standing to hug her son tightly. “I’m sorry, Percy.”

He hugged her back, letting the cigarette in his fingers fall to the lino floor, pressing his face to the comforting scent of her shoulder. The door to the kitchen opened and Severus stepped inside, brushing frost and snow off of his shoulders. He draped his muggle coat over the back of a chair and cleared his throat as he looked at the group. 

“Shall I play mother?” He asked as he swept the shrieking kettle off the stove. 

Percy sniffled and pulled back, wiping at his tears. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll do it, you go get your boots off before you trek mud all through my clean floors.”

“This entire house has never been properly clean in all of it’s existence, I doubt a bit of mud will hurt it any more than anything else.” Severus argued as he sat down at the kitchen table, removing his shoes and revealing the thick woolen socks that Percy had purchased for him for Christmas. They were red and green fair-isle monstrosities but Percy had smiled and told him they were perfect for their “house divided”.

“Just because you’re content to live in squalor for the next nine years doesn’t mean I am, so stop arguing with me and remove your boots, you awful man.” Percy leaned over and kissed Severus’ damp temple to take the bite out of his words, placing a plate of biscuits on the center of the table as he let the tea steep and gathered up cream and sugar from the refrigerator. 

Arthur and Molly silently watched the two of them, and when Percy sat down beside Severus, running a finger under his eyes to catch any stray tears, he could see the concern in their eyes, misplaced as it was. 

“So… Severus…” Arthur cleared his throat. “Did Dumbledore know?”

“No one knew,” Severus said simply as Percy served the tea with steady hands, always so careful with Bathilda’s teaset. “Not Dumbledore, not Voldemort, not anyone.”

“It wasn’t safe for people to know,” Percy said simply.

“Not even Lucius?” Arthur’s eyes turned sharp and Percy looked back at him just as sharply.

“Lucius Malfoy was a means to an end. He was persistent and didn’t know how to accept the word “no”. I could either resist and make things harder for myself, or I could allow him his fantasies and be further ingratiated to his cause.” 

“Your son was very brave, Arthur, Molly,” Severus’ hand rested on Percy’s, lacing their fingers after a moment. “He had no protections. No one in the Order knew what he was doing save me. Half of my information that I presented to you came from him.” Percy looked up at Severus and gave a weak little smile. “Your son is the bravest man that I know, and I’m honored to know him.”

They drank their tea in silence, nibbled at biscuits, and then Molly abrputly stood, saying they had other houses to visit for the day. Percy let them make their excuses, let them feebly promise to write, and led them out of the house. 

Once the door was shut and they had apparated away with a small pop he sighed and looked at Severus. 

“They don’t understand.”

“They never will,” Severus stroked Percy’s hair and smiled as he looked above the door at the mistletoe that Percy had hung there at the start of the Yuletide season. “Mistletoe.”

Percy tilted his head and their lips aligned perfectly and Severus was cool against Percy’s flushed skin, soothing, and he tasted like the mint leaves that he absently chewed on now that he couldn’t get his hands on any moly. 

“Blessed Yuletide, Severus,” Percy whispered against the man’s lips. 

“Blessed Yuletide, Percival,” Severus echoed, and their arms curled even tighter around one another.

* * *

Severus came back inside from where he had been working in the garden, weeding out the overgrown beds and planting new herbs and plants, all non-magical but most useful for food and herbs. He was covered in dirt and sweat nd smelled like sunshine and sunscreen and Percy smiled as he licked the spoon in his hand in what he hoped was a sexy manner. 

“Hello, handsome,” He purred, leaning against the counter. “I won quite the lottery. I have a lover who cleans up after himself, is handy around the house, and is a fantastic cook to top it all off.” He dipped the spoon in the pot on the stove once more. “What is this, it’s delicious?”

Severus smiled at Percy. “Shampoo.”

Percy choked on the spoonful he had just begun to swallow. “Kemp’s Curse.”

“Oatmeal, castile soap, coconut, and mint, specifically. It’s what I used to use when I was a teenager to keep my hair clean, before I knew how to brew shampoo properly.”

“You made your own shampoo?” Percy asked curiously, carefully placing his spoon aside while Severus grabbed his own wooden spoon and began to stir the mixture. “Wait, that has soap in it.”

“Don’t worry, it’s entirely non-toxic, this is a combination that I find neutralizes most reactions that might be caused by using typical chemical shampoo on potion fumes that have been soaked into human hair and skin,” Severus smirked at Percy. “Though I would hope that after so many years of watching me brew you would know not to drink unknown concoctions.”

“It looked like oatmeal! It _tasted_ like oatmeal!”

“Please refrain from making it a habit of eating my shampoo,” Severus teased, drawing Percy close by a grip on his wrist. 

“Stop making your shampoo fucking delicious, then,” Percy groused as Severus stole a kiss, the man’s tongue tracing Percy’s lips, delving into his mouth to deepen the kiss. “See, even you can’t resist the taste of your shampoo.”

Severus chuckled and wrapped his arms around Percy’s waist, perching the smaller man on the narrow little kitchen table to more easily slide his hands over Percy’s thighs and hips. “I can’t resist the taste of _you_ even if you do taste like shampoo.” He nosed at Percy’s jaw, forcing the younger man’s head to tilt back as he licked and sucked marks into Percy’s throat. “I spent years unable to kiss you whenever I wanted. Unable to touch you for fear of my own self-control crumpling.” Severus’ arms wrapped tightly around Percy’s waist, drawing him close until their groins pressed close together. “And now I have you all to myself.”

Percy tangled his fingers in Severus’ soft hair, drawing the man closer, biting eagerly at his thin lower lip, only for the two of them to break apart at the sound of someone pounding on the front door. 

There were two Aurors standing shoulder to shoulder, bullying their way quickly in the moment Percy opened the front door. “Yes, please, come in, not as if we weren’t expecting you or anything.” Percy groused as he followed the two Aurors to the kitchen. 

“Monthly inspection time, degenerates,” Auror Savage grinned as he opened every cabinet in the kitchen, peering into the fridge. “What’s all this then?”

“Shampoo,” Severus said dryly as he stared at the Auror glaring suspiciously at the pot bubbling away on the stove. 

“And this?” The other Auror, Deltoid? Percy was sure it was Deltoid, opened a jar in the fridge. “Back to potion’s making, are we? That’s violation of your sentence, isn’t it?”

“It is a hair mask. Flax seed, coconut oil, and water,” Severus raised a brow as he took the jar and dipped two fingers into it to show the gooey, slimy consistency.

“And this?”

“Are we going to do this all day then?” Percy sighed as he watched the two men empty the fridge of its contents. “We make our own food and Severus makes a variety of natural grooming products, how difficult is that to understand?”

“Gotta make sure that you’re not out here violating probation,” Auror Savage grinned. “As such, I think we’ll be confiscating this.” He tapped his wand upon the fridge, uttered a spell, and in a moment the fridge was gone, with all of its contents crashing down onto the floor in a mess of glass and plastic and foodstuffs. 

Severus took in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he glared at the two Aurors, “We violated our probation by making… Soaps?”

“Precisely, gotta live like muggles do now, don’t you?” Savage snickered as he grinned at the two. “Come on, Deltoid, let’s see what’s these two are buggering each other with upstairs.”

“You’ll be sorely disappointed,” Percy said as he followed the two Aurors, stepping carefully around the mess on the kitchen floor. “No dildos for you to steal along with our refrigerator.”

“Oh, ho, ho, what do we have here?” Savage held up a blueberry schnapps bottle from Severus’ bedside drawer and Percy smirked as he leaned against the door frame. Savage opened the bottle and took a deep swig, only to choke and spit out the clear liquid from inside. “What in LeFay’s name is that?!”

“Our lubricant bottle broke,” Percy smirked. “So we used the old schnapps bottle.”

“You two are fucking disgusting,” Savage snarled, turning to glare at Percy.

“Says the man who just drank unflavored lube,” Percy sniped back at the Auror.

He wasn’t expecting the backhand or the sound of Severus’ furious shout. When he straightened and turned it was just in time to catch Severus’ own pulled back fist while Deltoid grabbed at Savage’s arm to prevent the man from cursing the two of them. Instead the mattress exploded as a hex struck it and Percy jerked Severus away from the Aurors, putting his body between the two as if he could somehow protect the man with his own life once more. 

“Come on, Savage,” Deltoid whispered in the silence that followed, all four men breathing heavily as they glared at each other. Percy and Severus were unarmed, no better than muggles, and if Savage did anything more violent, cursed or cast any spells on them while they were defenseless, then he could face criminal charges himself. 

“Run along, Savage,” Percy hissed as his chest heaved, his hand gripping Severus’ wrist tightly to keep the man behind him, even as Severus’ own arm snaked around his waist, prepared to throw Percy out of the way of danger. Percy summoned every memory of Tom Riddle, of his snide mannerisms, his cool, reptilian gaze, and tilted his chin to look down his nose at the two Aurors. “Perhaps you didn’t understand me properly: Get out.”

There wasn’t a drop of magic that he could access, but the two Aurors quickly vacated the destroyed bedroom and then the house itself. When the crack of their apparitions sounded Percy slumped, turning to face Severus and cup the man’s jaw in his palms. 

“Your face is bruised,” Severus whispered, his hand trembling as he stroked his fingers over the tender patch of Percy’s face where Savage’s hand had caught him. 

“No one will say anything,” Percy whispered, tilting his head into Severus’ palm despite the pain. “Gertie’s face is bruised all the time and no one says anything to her.”

Severus’ jaw worked and he pressed his forehead to Percy’s gently. “My mother wore bruises like that every… For as long as I can remember.” He stared into Percy’s green eyes. “I can’t stand the idea of people seeing you like this.”

Percy kissed him to silence those thoughts, “This is not the worst I’ve had, Severus, it’s fine.” He pulled back and straightened his clothes, looking with a frown at the bed and then recalled the fridge that had been “confiscated”. “We need to go somewhere.”

“Somewhere” turned out to be the most depressing place that Percy had ever seen. 

“My father would love this place,” Percy said as they stood in the shop. There were white goods piled up as far as the eye could see. Washers and dryers stacked atop one another, fridges and stovetops and a variety of other appliances all neatly lined up into cramped aisles. When Percy began to wander Severus sighed and followed him. 

“Percy, we aren’t here to _browse_ -”

Percy made a running leap to a mattress display, bouncing upon the springs and grinning up at Severus. “Ravish me here, Severus!” He joked, throwing his head back and sticking one leg into the air as if he was an elegant starlet in a burlesque. 

“In the middle of Direct Discount Birmingham? I think not.” Severus was trying not to smile, trying to use his most frightening professor face, but Percy was now immune to it as he rolled off the bed and then onto another one. 

“What about this one? It’s like sleeping on a cloud,” Percy sank a few inches into the mattress to. “On second thought, I don’t know how much I like this.”

“There will be no cloud-like beds in our bedroom, Percy,” Severus sighed, following Percy along. “Are you going to lay in every bed in this entire store?”

“Yes,” Percy grabbed at Severus’ wrist, drawing the man to the edge of the bed. “You should too, so I can properly test which one I like best.”

“Brat,” Severus laughed. 

“You adore me,” Percy moved to the next bed, hauling his lover along with him. “What about this one?”

“That price is highway robbery.”

“But think about how much time we’ll spend in it, it’s an investment!” Percy dragged Severus down onto the bed, wrapping his arm around the man’s stiff body the same way he did at home at night. “Can’t you imagine falling asleep on this?” He kissed at Severus’ ear lobe gently. “After rigorous activity.”

Thin shoulders stiffened and Percy smiled as he watched his lover’s pale cheek flush pink. “You are a menace.”

“Only to you,” Percy grinned as he sat up, clambering over Severus’ body and then adjusting his clothing obviously. “How about we go look for a new refrigerator, hmm?” He smirked at the look of utter whiplash on the man’s face before Severus was following him, scowling and trying very hard to bring Percy to heel. 

But there was no fear now. They were free, or as free as they could be, there was no Voldemort, there was no Dumbledore, no Death Eaters or Order of the Phoenix. They were two men, in a store, buying a mattress and a fridge for a home they shared. 

It was funny watching the sales people circling around, each one approaching, only to get a glance of Severus’ deadly glare and scatter away to find someone other customer to try and assist. The two of them wandered into another aisle of uniform white refrigerators and Percy smirked when Severus laid his dark gaze on an employee that was tapping away on a mobile phone. 

“If it pleases you, your majesty,” Severus barked and the young man stood ramrod straight, fumbling his phone back into his pocket as he cleared his throat. “We would like to purchase a refrigerator.” Severus glared at the young man. “Well?”

“Um, yeah, okay, which one do you want?” The young man ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat again. 

“You’re the salesman, isn’t it your job to know your stock and make adequate recommendations after inquiring as to the needs of your customers?” A dark brow arched and Percy tried not to smile as he wrapped his arms around Severus’ bicep. 

“Easy, Severus, he’s just a kid,” The poor young man was probably only a few years younger than Percy, but Percy hadn’t allowed strangers to see him so vulnerable for so long that he was sure that tainted his interpretation of the boy.

It was a rather humiliating experience for the boy, that was sure, and Percy couldn’t help but smirk at some of Severus’ snide comments to the boy’s fumbling attempts at upselling them. While Percy was more than willing to be convinced into a better model of just about anything, Severus was much more stern and strict in what he would allow, and any clearly fumbling attempts at manipulation were met with a scowl and barked demands for the poor young man to cease his attempts immediately. 

Eventually they made it to the checkout and the poor sweating sales clerk cleared his throat and held out a small packet to Severus. “Would you like to buy a three year warranty? It covers manufacturer’s failures.”

“Does it cover theft?” Severus asked, deceptively placid as he drew his wallet from his pocket. 

“Um…” The boy quickly looked inside the packet. “No, you have to be able to show you have the item.”

“Our last fridge lasted us over forty years before it was stolen, young man, what good would that do to us?” 

They arranged for the fridge and mattress to be delivered and took the bus back home, Percy feeling as if the disgusting seats were marginally more bearable than standing upright on the rickety, dangerous turns that the driver took. 

“It seems that reckless driving is not merely a trait of the Knightbus,” Percy hissed as the driver took another turn much too sharply. 

“How often did you go onto the Knightbus?” Severus asked with a frown. “You were at Riddle House and then at Malfoy Manor.”

“I’d ride it sometimes to escape,” Percy leaned against Severus’ shoulder as they met a long stretch of straight road. “I used to talk to Stan Shunpike. I was the one that Imperiused him after he was broken out.”

“After you gave me the Gaunt ring,” Severus murmured softly.

“That’s what it was?” Percy frowned. “All I remembered was that it was a box that… Felt like him.”

“It was,” Severus sighed and drew Percy closer. “It’s what was killing Dumbledore. He recognized the stone within the ring to be the Resurrection Stone and it tempted him, to his detriment.” Percy turned his head into Severus’ shoulder and the man was quiet for a few long moments before he spoke again, softly. “What was it like? Living so closely with Vol… Tom Riddle?”

They sat in silence and Percy contemplated the question seriously before he spoke up, barely loud enough for Severus to hear. “Like I was in a nightmare, waiting to be woken up, but I never did.” Percy ran his hand over the dark bruise along his face where Savage had struck him mere hours ago. “The only time I knew things were real was when they hurt. When Malfoy… And then Tom would… He’d torture people in front of me and if I didn’t join in then he’d hurt me, not enough to really cause damage, but enough to get the message across.”

He thought of Voldemort’s reptilian face, of his serpentine neck, of too-human teeth in that too-inhuman mouth. Of blood red eyes staring down at him, raising his wand and hissing that Percy would obey his master or he would suffer. He thought of Lucius Malfoy’s greedy hands on him and how he didn’t tell the man to stop, merely accepted the feeling of the man using him as its own special form of torture. 

“If I go to hell,” Percy whispered and Severus looked down at him, eyes shocked and brow raised. “I think that for me it would be Malfoy Manor, not Riddle House. At least at Riddle House it was only Tom, Pettigrew, and I… In Malfoy Manor it was always worse. Everyone knew what was happening to me, what… What he was doing, trying to do…” Percy sighed and shook his head as he pressed his face to Severus’ chest. “He never… Not like what Lucius did.”

Severus’ arm tightened around him. “Good.”

* * *

It wasn’t that Percy had anything against Jenny Guilsteen. She was perfectly pretty, her teeth were straight, and if her hair was all hamster-dyed because she used a bottle from the chemist rather than going to the salon to dye her hair red then that was her business, not his. 

He just hated her more than he had ever hated anyone in his entire life (and he had lived a life filled with hate). 

He hated her low cut tops and her big Bambi-brown eyes and her noxious perfume and equally obnoxious laugh. He hated her dangly earrings brushing over her neck and her chipped nailpolish and her generous tips to Severus at the bar. He hated the way she laughed at everything he said and blatantly flirted with him in an attempt to get free drinks. 

He really couldn’t be blamed for trying to rip her stupid bottle-dyed hair out of her empty head when she leaned over and planted a kiss on Severus’ cheek in the middle of the bar while everyone drunkenly celebrated the Queen’s Birthday. 

“Percival!” Severus’ voice barked over the cheers of the other bar patrons when Percy’s hand tangled in the girl’s long hair and hauled her off of her barstool, sending it clattering to the ground as Percy dragged a kicking and screaming Jenny across the floor. Jenny’s fist connected with Percy’s jaw with more force than she had clearly intended and Percy slapped her so hard his palm stung. “Percy!” Severus’ arms wrapped around Percy’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides and hauling the younger man off of his victim. 

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch my boyfriend!” Percy shrieked, eyes wild as he kicked and struggled to escape Severus’ grip. 

“Piss off, you psycho!”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Percy!” Severus placed Percy between the corner of the bar and the wall, blocking him off with his own body. Percy tried to wriggle around Severus, glaring at a sniffling and limping Jenny as Lois and Mister Cheevers checked the girl over. 

“Really, Jenny, don’t know what you was expecting to happen,” Mister Cheevers said as he lit a cigarette. “Sev, buy your boy a drink on me.”

Severus glared at the unhelpful duo and then at Percy. “We will talk about this at home. Go.”

Wind whipped around Percy as he trudged back to the house at the termination of Spinner’s End, slamming the door shut before he scowled and unlaced his boots. His mother had always cooked and cleaned when she was upset at his father, and Percy hated that he had somehow managed to take up that habit. By the time Severus arrived home piss yellow kitchen had been cleaned within an inch of its life, the cabinets, floor, and counters scrubbed, the dishes washed, dried, and placed in the cabinets, the fridge had been emptied and scrubbed before everything was placed back inside in alphabetical order. 

Percy was in the process of scrubbing peeling varnish off the window sill with a scrub brush and salt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he hissed. “If he wants to fuck Jenny Guilsteen then I’ll just have to wring her scrawny little neck until her head pops clean off-”

“Percy, I am hardly going to fuck Jenny Guilsteen. She’s insufferable.”

He jumped guiltily, turning to face Severus and dropping the scrub brush in the sink. “Severus-” Before he could apologize, shout, argue, or make excuses, Severus’ lips were on his. 

It was a shock, feeling his lover’s teeth biting and tugging at his lower lip, Severus’ long, thin fingers tugging at Percy’s button down until he managed to touch the sensitive skin of Percy’s stomach, the older man growling into Percy’s throat. 

“You’re quite lovely when you’re jealous,” Severus’ voice was so low that Percy felt the words more than heard them, his hands tangled in dark hair, pulling the tie so that he could get proper fistfuls of inky blackness. Without the help of levitation spells, Severus struggled to carry Percy much further than the sitting room, but Percy didn’t complain when he was practically thrown into Severus’ wing-backed chair, Severus kneeling before him to trace his mouth over Percy’s neck, chest, stomach, rewarding him eagerly. 

“Severus… Please-” Percy yelped as crooked teeth bit into his thigh, grabbing at Severus’ hair tightly as he rocked his hips and whined eagerly for more.

“No one has ever been so vehement about others touching me,” Severus purred and Percy shivered, scowling down at the man as his fingers yanked at fine strands of hair. 

“She was trying to get her hands all over you. You’re mine.” Percy curled until he could bite at the bridge of Severus’ hooked nose. Teasing, warning. “I don’t like sharing.”

“Spoiled brat,” Severus grinned, finally managing to get Percy’s trousers off, baring his length to the cool air of the house before Severus lowered his head to take Percy into his mouth. 

Percy arched and whined, shivering as he tightened his grip on the man’s head. “Severus, yes, please, please.” 

As merciful as the man was feeling, Percy knew, at the back of his mind, that he was still in trouble for causing such a public scene. Severus was a private man, and Percy was well aware of that, and no doubt the two of them would be the source of town gossip for months in Cokeworth. So when Severus pulled back, leaving Percy whining and aching and slick with spit, Percy did his best not to whine. 

“You’re a monstrous little brat,” The man growled, drawing his own jeans down, slicking his fingers with spit and Percy’s own slick fluids before he thrust them into his younger lover. Percy whined and clawed at Severus’ shoulders, panting at the rough friction. “Throwing a tantrum because someone else touched your toy.”

Percy bared his teeth and Severus grinned right back at the snarl that tore from Percy’s lips. “No one can touch you. Only me. You’re mine.” Long legs wrapped around Severus’ middle and the man grunted as Percy’s thighs squeezed him tightly, refusing to let him go. 

“And you’re mine,” Severus snarled, his teeth sinking into Percy’s neck. There’d be bruises the next day and Percy knew that Lois would knowingly look at him and cackle and ask if “Nosferatu came to visit”, but he loved it. 

“Yours,” Percy whined. “Not anyone else’s, I’m all yours.” He shivered and bit at Severus’ ear, gasping and squirming when those perfect, slender fingers opened him up. He loved the marks, loved the signs that he was Severus’, that all the town could see him and know that he belonged to Severus Snape. He yelped when Severus pulled him closer to the edge of the chair and rose up more fully on his knees with a grunt. Percy spared a thought for Severus’ poor knees, but all thoughts soon stopped at the familiar feeling of Severus sinking into him. “Fuck.” He gasped, shaking as he grasped at Severus’ tee shirt. “Fuck, Severus, yes, please.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Severus growled and it made Percy whine even louder. “So you do know that word, I had almost forgotten.”

“Please, please, please, I need more,” Percy tried his best to whine as prettily as he could, but his eyes were crossing behind his classes and Severus felt so good, demanding and rough and without magic to ease the way the friction was maddening, satisfying in a new way. 

“What a good pet you are,” Severus growled into Percy’s mouth and Percy let out a strangled little noise that he did not even recognize as his own voice. “You like that, _pet_?”

A frantic nod sent Percy’s glasses flying off his face and he was not going to last like this, not when he had been so worked up over… He couldn’t even remember anymore, it was all so far away, banished as surely from his mind as if Severus had obliviated the memory into nonexistence. All he could think of was Severus’ eyes on him, black as night and hungry and glittering for _Percy_ , so close that their noses brushed and Percy’s vision could make out every line and crease and detail of Severus’ eyes.

“Mine,” Percy hissed, his fingers grasping the sides of Severus’ head, holding him close as the man’s movements sped up, his arms clamped strongly around Percy’s waist, holding him right at the edge of the chair as they kissed. 

“Yours,” Severus breathed out, and those perfect dark eyes closed as Severus groaned and spilled inside Percy. His hand wrapped around Percy’s own length and stroked him, kissing and biting until Percy’s neck would be a necklace of bruises and jagged teethmarks. When Percy came he whined and gasped and clutched at Severus as if the man would vanish into smoke through his fingers. 

They stayed like that for a moment, holding one another, quietly listening to their heartbeats slowing. 

“You needn’t worry yourself, Percy.”

Percy frowned and kissed Severus. “Hmm?”

“About Jenny Guilsteen. I don’t care about her or anyone else.” Severus’ fingers combed through Percy’s curls. “I love you.”

Percy fiddled with Severus’ tee shirt, tracing the seams at his shoulders, the crew neck collar, the edge of the silver necklace neither of them could remove. “You’re sure?” Kemp’s Curse, he sounded pathetic, but he… He needed to know.

“Nothing can keep us apart, Percy,” Severus whispered as he kissed the younger man. “Our love will last until the stars turn cold.”

* * *

“It is so small,” Percy whispered as he looked at the tiny creature in Severus’ hands, being gently held before the fireplace in a bundled up tea towel. It was a tiny black kitten, the eyes still baby blue and so small it could easily be cradled in one of Severus’ large hands. “We should name it.”

“It might not survive,” Severus warned as he filled a dropper with formula he had asked Percy to purchase on the way home from work. The kitten licked delicately at the tiny drops of milk, squeaking demandingly every time Severus moved to refill the dropper. “Impatient little creature.” He groused, but Percy could see how gentle he was being as he tended to his tiny charge. 

And so began the week of care. Of feeding the kitten every hour, on the hour. Of Percy helping Severus wrap the squirming little form in a tea towel so that the man could tuck the kitten into his apron at work, of Severus smiling down at the kitten they fondly called “Teeny” when it started to stumble around the living room to explore on its own. It was perfect in it’s own small way, in an imperfect situation.

The morning it happened Percy knew without a doubt that the entire bedroom was too still. When Severus’ eyes opened he knew that the man could tell as well. When they checked Teeny’s shoe box the tiny little body was still, rigid and when Severus reached down his hand flinched back almost immediately. 

They sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the box for a few long moments of silence before Severus curled forward, his forehead pressing to Percy’s knees, and sobbed. It was a ragged, awful noise, clutched in his chest as his entire body shook with the force of his grief. Percy rubbed his hand over Severus’ back and made soothing noises that only encouraged the man. In moments two decades of grief spilled out, Severus howling to the ceiling like some great wounded beast as he sobbed. 

Among all the noises, beyond grief and pain and anguish, Severus repeated over and over, “I’m sorry”. It was as if floodgates had opened and Severus was helpless to do anything but let the waters flow through him. 

They’d bury the tiny body of the kitten in the garden. Later that night Percy would call The Matchbox and say that Severus had come down with a nasty bug and wouldn’t be in for the next few days. They’d lay together in bed, drinking whiskey directly from the bottle, naked and wrapped in blankets as they savored the touch of bare skin against one another. They’d toast everyone who had died. Severus would toast Lily and Albus, Percy would toast Rufus and Bathilda, they’d both toast Fred Weasley and Regulus Black. But that was for later.

For now, Percy held Severus and let the man grieve.

* * *

“Severus, is that you?” Percy called as he heard the front door close. “I thought you’d forgotten that we had a date and I was going to have to go to the bar and-”

Blonde. 

“What the fuck?” Percy asked as he stared at Severus, eyes wide as the man ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. 

“You don’t like it,” It wasn’t a question, but it certainly sounded like it. 

“N-no, it’s just… A surprise,” Percy took in Severus’ face and his hair dyed blonde and cut shorter. Not fully short, not as short as Percy’s, it still had those delightful waves that Percy enjoyed running his fingers through, but it was so very different from Severus’ natural coloration that it threw Percy for a loop. “You look handsome.” He reassured the man, running his fingers through Severus’ hair. “Did Adrienne do this?”

“Yes, she did,” Severus cleared his throat and smiled down at Percy nervously. “I thought that… It’d be a nice change, something different.”

Percy smiled back at him, straightening to stand on his tip toes. “It’s certainly different, and it’s not bad, it just startled me.” He tugged on Severus’ hands. “Come on, go get changed for dinner, we’re going into London, aren’t we?”

They had scheduled the date months in advance and Severus had even managed to get Mister Cheevers to agree to loan them his car for the drive. They both climbed the stairs and Percy watched as Severus began to change, leaning against the doorframe as he smirked at the man. 

“Wear the green one,” Percy said as he watched Severus fuss over his shirts and sweaters. “You’re quite lovely in green.”

In the end Severus dressed in green and Percy in red, the two of them climbing into the run down blue Ford Angelina that reminded Percy very much of his father’s car lost in the Forbidden Forest after Ron’s unfortunate incident with the car. 

“Does this one fly too?” Severus asked with a smirk as they buckled in and Percy laughed. 

Severus was a much more cautious driver than Arthur Weasley and when they arrived in London, struggling to find parking, they managed to make it through the traffic in one piece. 

Every Lupercalia for the past five years they had gone to London for dinner, arranging errands and visits to the Ministry around the date. Usually it was merely fish and chips or fried chicken or some other such cheap meal, but this time Severus had managed to secure them a meal at Turpin’s. 

Everything was bright and clean and white with beautiful golden accents. They were clearly under-dressed for the type of clientèle that the restaurant usually saw, but their money spent just the same as anyone else’s. 

After they were seated and given the menus a waiter came by, smiling at the two of them. “A nice dinner out for father and son?”

Severus choked on his glass of water and Percy held up his own hand before his mouth and nose as he snorted. “Oh, he’s my Daddy alr-”

“ _Percival_!” Severus choked even more on his drink. “No, no, he is not my son.”

“O-oh,” The waiter’s eyes widened as he stared at the two, slowly processing his mistake before he cleared his throat. “How about a bottle of wine on the house?”

“Yes, please, a red would do nicely,” Severus handed the drinks menu back to the waiter a bit more viciously than he probably needed to, clearly dismissing the waiter with his stern glare. 

Percy waited until the unfortunate young man was gone before he snickered and stared at Severus. “What, you don’t like being my _Daddy_?”

“Percival, that is entirely inappropriate,” Severus whispered, his eyes flicking to the other diners who didn’t pay the two any mind. 

“Oh, so I’m _Percival_ now? I really am in trouble,” Percy smirked and slid his foot against Severus’ leg beneath the table. “Going to spank me?”

Before Severus could complain further the waiter returned, pouring them both a glass of wine, speaking about body and flavors and where the grapes were grown and how close they were pressed to the source and all manner of things that Percy did not care for, not when Severus’ pale face was flushed a delightful pink. 

Percy swirled his own glass and ordered lamb, smiling as Severus fumbled and ordered the same, clearly caught on the back step as he glared at the waiter and then at Percy. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now?” Percy asked, tilting his head to peer at the man, his foot still teasing over the lean line of Severus’ calves. “We both know that you’re not my father, and I’m eternally grateful for that fact.” 

“You and I know, but I don’t enjoy the idea of people thinking that I’m…” Severus sipped at his wine and pulled a face. “People must think you can do better than me.”

Percy scoffed. “I doubt I could.” He sipped at his own glass and smiled at Severus. “How many men my age can say that they managed to ensnare a man who survived the two most powerful wizards of our time wanting him dead?” Percy rested his hand upon Severus’ and lifted it so that those elegant fingers, still stained from potions after all these years, were pressed to his lips. “You’re a marvel and I adore you.”

“Even without magic?” Severus asked with an arched brow, frowning at Percy quietly. 

“Even without magic and with grey in your hair,” Percy teased softly, his green eyes glittering playfully. “Was that why you dyed it blonde?”

Severus scowled, clearly caught out as he glared down at his empty glass. “Am I really so transparent?”

“Only to me,” Percy laughed and for a moment Severus gave him a look that was so adoring, so stunned, that he felt his own cheeks flush with delight. “What?”

It was Severus’ turn to lift Percy’s hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles tenderly. “You’re perfect.”

* * *

It was back and Percy would be damned if he let Tom Marvolo Riddle take him without a fight. 

“No, no, no, no,” Percy hissed, snarling as he scrubbed at the black mark on his skin with a rag first, then the bar of soap directly. “Get out, get out, get out!” When that didn’t work he grabbed steel wool, scrubbing at the skin until it stung, raw and red. When even that didn’t erase the Dark Mark from his skin his nails started to claw and scratch deep gouges. No matter how warped it became, no matter how deep he dug, the mark as still there beneath the thick streams of blood. 

“Fuck!” He howled, clattering through the house. He was sure he had woken the neighbours by now, but he couldn’t care, not when he might very well be dragged kicking and screaming to Hell or worse. “Fuck, go away!” Percy stumbled down the stairs, through the sitting room into the kitchen, and began to tear apart the drawers and cabinets until he found Severus’ carving knife. He sat at the table, his left arm stretched out as he stared at the mark, panting as adrenaline coursed through him. 

He steeled himself and rested the blade of the knife against his arm before he raised it over his head.

Footsteps, and then the door to the kitchen swung open. “Percy, what’s going on?”

The blade came down.

What followed was a haze. Severus was screaming and clutching at his arm, desperately trying to wrest the knife away from him even as Percy fought and tried to finish the job. There was blood everywhere, spattered across the walls, the table, Percy and Severus’ own clothing. He didn’t know when the blue and red lights first started, he didn’t even hear the sirens, or the questions of the paramedics as they were ushered into the kitchen. Severus was talking, that much he knew, but he didn’t tell the muggles what was really going on, the danger they were in. 

“Severus, it’s back, it’s back, Severus, look, look at your arm, he’s coming back, Tom’s going to come for us!” Percy struggled in the grasp of one of the paramedics as the bleeding was staunched as best as it could be and he was strapped into a gurney. 

“Does Percy have a history of drug or alcohol abuse? Mental illness?”

“No!” Percy shrieked, scrambling until he found Severus’ carving knife. “No, no, no, he’s coming, he’s coming after me, I can’t - I can’t!” There was the sting of a needle and Percy fought even harder in the gurney as he was lifted and carried through the narrow house out onto the front yard. “Severus! Severus, please!”

“I’m here,” The man’s cold, shaking hand grasped at Percy’s undamaged hand as he climbed into the sterile white ambulance alongside him. “I’m right here, I have you.” Thin lips pressed to his knuckles. “Everything is going to be alright. Sleep now. Rest.”

As if the man had cast a spell on him, Percy’s world faded to nothing. After what could have been minutes or hours he woke again, everything was still so blurry and hazy, but he could make out Severus’ voice speaking to someone.

“Harry,” Severus whispered, voice hoarse, had he been crying? Why was he crying? “I’m sorry for calling so late, but it’s… It’s Percy… No… No, I need… I need you to floo Arthur and Molly… Percy’s in the hospital and we’re… King’s Mill Hospital. I don’t know the address, I’ll call you once I get ahold of someone… Thank you.”

The next time he woke Percy didn’t see Severus anywhere, couldn’t hear or smell him either, and panic struck him. “Severus?”

“Hey, hey, Percy, calm down, it’s alright,” Harry whispered and Percy flinched as the younger man grabbed his hand in an attempt to be comforting. “Severus is just getting some breakfast, he’ll be back soon as anything.”

“Where am I?” Percy asked, staring at unfamiliar surroundings. 

“You’re in King’s Mill Hospital. You gave us quite a fright,” Harry smiled down at him and Percy frowned, looking down at his arm. 

“The Dark Mark-”

“It’s not there, Percy. Trust me. Severus’ isn’t either,” Harry searched Percy’s face. “He’s not back. You’ll be fine. You just rest.”

Percy nodded, determined to stay awake until Severus returned, only to fade back to darkness minutes later.

The final time he woke in the hospital Severus was talking to a woman.

“We recommend he stay in the psychiatric ward for observation. Psychotic breaks like this don’t just happen for no reason.”

“I understand, but I think it would be better for us to go to a specialist in London. I’ll take him myself,” Severus’ voice was tight and exhausted, and Percy wondered how long he had been awake. 

“He poses a great danger to himself, and potentially other people-”

“He is a traumatized young man who fell in with a violent extremist gang at a young age,” Severus cut the doctor off. “You wouldn’t be half as well adjusted if you’d seen what he has.”

“… I’ll take your word for it, Mister Snape. Once he’s been conscious for a while and can keep down solid foods we’ll release him.”

Silence, then the sound of Severus’ loafers across the floor. “Percy.” He whispered and Percy kept his eyes closed, trying to pretend that he was still asleep. “I know you’re awake.”

Green eyes opened, looking guiltily up at Severus. “What happened?”

“You suffered a psychotic break,” Severus sat on the uncomfortable looking chair beside the hospital bed, resting his hand on Percy’s wrist. “You’ve been in surgery, they managed to save your arm, but you’ll have some pain and limited mobility for a while, possibly for the rest of your life.” Percy’s eyes slid slowly over to his left arm, his fingers twitching and sending a shock of pain up his entire arm. “Don’t move, you’re on very strong pain killers.”

“I feel sick.”

“That’s the anesthesia,” Severus stroked his thumb over Percy’s knuckles. “Percy, I… Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

“I didn’t know it was,” Percy whispered. “I’m scared all the time, but I… I didn’t… It seemed so _real_.”

“I know,” Severus rested his forehead against Percy’s fingers. “I know… But we can’t… We can’t go on like this.” Percy’s heart clenched in his chest and his fingers tightened around Severus’. “I’m taking you to London. There’s… Harry’s gotten you an appointment with a muggle specialist-”

“We can’t afford-”

“Let me worry about that,” Severus gave Percy a stern look, his fingers clenched tightly around Percy’s own hand. “I can’t lose you, Percy. I won’t. Not to Tom Riddle, not to the Ministry, and certainly not to this.”

Percy looked down at their joined hands and whispered, “What if… What if it can’t be fixed?”

“Then we’ll find a way,” Severus whispered against Percy’s knuckles, breathing deeply. “We always do.”

It was a few hours before the door to the hospital room was opened and Severus was asked to come out. He cast a brief, assessing glance at Percy, before he stood and left the room. A few seemingly endless minutes later and the door opened again.

“Can you get me some chips?” Percy asked absently. “I’m hungry.”

“I don’t think the nurses would appreciate you eating chips in a hospital,” A voice that was definitely not Severus spoke up and Percy’s eyes snapped open to stare at Harry Potter. “But I brought you both toothbrushes, deodorant, some warm socks, and something Ginny called dry shampoo that she said you’d both appreciate.”

Percy cleared his throat and looked down. “Sorry, I thought you were-”

“He’s gone to get some food,” Harry sat in the chair that Severus had previously occupied. “You’ve been here for a few days. They had to intubate you and I don’t think he slept a wink for the entire time.”

“Days?” Percy frowned, rubbing at his eyes. His glasses were on the side table and he reached over with his good arm to try and retrieve them. He could handle being essentially blind when Severus was the only one there, but Harry… The crackle of magic that he had begun to associate only with Aurors when they came for monthly inspections set his teeth on edge. “How long have I been here?”

“Apparently four days. Severus called me last night and I was trying to get ahold of Molly and Arthur but they-”

“I know,” Percy whispered, looking down at his left arm, still wrapped in bandages. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Don’t judge them too harshly, Harry,” Percy sighed as he watched the younger man.

“They’re your parents, they should come here to see you when you’re in hospital,” Harry frowned and it was strange to see someone so upset over mistreatment of someone like Percy. 

“I don’t blame them,” He whispered after a few long moments, and Harry looked up at him sharply. Their green eyes were so similar and for a moment Percy contemplated that before he looked away, nodding to his left arm wrapped in bandages. “I wouldn’t want anything to do with me either if I was them.”

Severus returned, bearing a grease ladened paper bag. “There’s a fish and chips place up the road.” He passed the bag to Percy. “I figured you’d want some chips.”

“You are an angel,” Percy sighed, smiling up at Severus as the man leaned over to steal a soft kiss. “You would only be more divine if you fed them to me.” Harry’s eyes glittered with amusement as he stood, moving so that Severus could sit beside Percy, holding out a chip to the younger man. “Severus Snape, you have made me the happiest basket case in this entire hospital.”

“Here,” Harry passed Severus the bag. “Some things to make you feel somewhat human again.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Severus whispered, looking down at Percy’s arm for a brief moment before he cleared his throat. “And thank you for contacting Molly and Arthur on my behalf. We aren’t allowed access to owls.”

“Four more years, right?” Harry gave a weak smile. “You’ll be out in four more years.”

“Yeah,” Percy sighed, reaching out to take Severus’ hand in his own as they sat silently. “Four more.”

* * *

“So I told Gertie that if she wanted to say shit about my scheduling then she could tell me to my face,” Percy carefully ran the file against the edge of Severus’ nail to sharpen it to a point like he had the last seven. 

“Hmm,” Severus murmured as he used his free hand to adjust the paper. “And what did Gertie have to say about that?”

“She told me to get your cock out from my ass, and I did not have a suitably devastating comeback,” Percy wiped the filed nail with a damp cloth to remove the dust before he moved on to the next one. “I can’t believe you used to do this all by yourself every week.”

“I used magic to do it,” Severus smiled over at Percy. “So naturally now I must employ more mundane means. And I’d rather swallow a whole mandrake than go to the salon and get my nails done by the likes of Lois and Sabrina.”

“So you take advantage of poor, young, vulnerable me?” Percy finished on Severus’ hand, reaching over for the black nailpolish. It wasn’t the same as the magical kind that Severus used to harden his nails to vicious, metallic points, but it looked lovely and glossy all the same. “For shame, Severus Snape, I had expected better of you!” 

There was a pounding on the door and Percy jumped, cursing as he painted a thick black stripe over Severus’ hand. 

“I’ll get it,” He sighed, standing as Severus gathered up a paper towel to clean off his hand. Another vicious pounding on the door made Percy stride more quickly across the small house. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

When he opened the door his frown deepened as he took in the familiar thick brown trench coats of the Aurors Corps. “Mister Weasley.” The more familiar of the Aurors spoke, looking pointedly down at Percy’s arm. “Have a bit of an accident did we?”

Percy covered what he could of his left arm with his hand. “Auror Savage, please, come in.” He turned sharply into the house. “Not as if I could stop you.”

Severus came out of the kitchen at the mention of the Auror and the two residents of 14 Spinner’s End didn’t bother sitting down. Previous experience said that if they sat down on anything that item was likely to be destroyed in an attempt to search for contraband. 

“Please do put the books back in order,” Severus drawled in what Percy often referred to as his “Professor Voice” as he wrapped an arm around Percy’s waist protectively, Percy’s own hand resting upon his lover’s shoulder. “I know how hard it is for you to _read_ , Mister Savage.”

“Now there’s no need to take that tone, _Mister_ Snape,” Savage grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, biting into the bitter green fruit as he looked around, keeping an eye on the clearly junior Auror that was tossing the house recklessly. “Remember, you wouldn’t be in this mess if you two weren’t filthy fucking Death Eaters who made it your living to hide things.”

“Can’t we just get this over with?” Percy sighed. “The last six years we haven’t had anything even remotely close to contraband in this house, what makes you think that that’s just randomly changed?”

“It’s a full moon, folks do crazy things on full moons, not just Werewolves,” Savage grinned, bits of green apple skin caught between the gaps of his crooked teeth. “Speaking of which, Merry! Check upstairs!”

“Yes, sir, Auror Savage, sir!”

“Come on, then, give the young man the full tour,” Savage gestured and Percy sighed as he pulled away from Severus, the small parade climbing up the stairs until Percy threw open the bedroom door and leaned against the wall. “Got any nice surprises for Mister Snape?” Savage asked Percy with a leer. “Little bit of bedroom games? Got your old school uniform up here to play hot for teacher?””

“You’re foul,” Percy scoffed, glaring at the man as their drawers were tossed through, the bed practically thrown against the wall and sheets torn from the surface carelessly. 

“Easy now, just doing a job, no hard feelings,” Savage poked through their drawers a bit and Severus stiffened as the Auror stepped closer to Percy, grinning down at the ginger. “Word around the Ministry is you’re used to just doing a job, yeah?”

Percy bared his teeth in a humorless grin. “Jealous, Evan?” He asked, arching a ginger brow. “I was very good at my jobs, I outlasted three Ministers of Magic.”

“Yeah, got rumors going around about how you managed to keep those,” Savage scoffed, tossing the apple core onto the bed. “Lucius Malfoy and the Bat of the Dungeons not enough for you?”

The slap that Percy tried to deliver to the man’s face never made contact, Savage grasping at Percy’s wrist tightly as he glared down at him. Auror Merry moved to draw his wand, only for Savage to wave him off silently. 

“What they gonna do? They don’t have their wands.” Savage grinned down at Percy. “Now apologize, Prissy.”

There was stillness in the room, Savage’s lips inches from Percy’s own, Severus frozen helplessly beside the door, before Percy’s free hand shot out, low and with all the force he could gather in the shallow blow. 

“ _Fuck_!” Savage wheezed as he fell to his knees, doubled over on the floor as Percy stepped over him. “You little fucking-”

“Bitch? Please, you’ll have to be more creative than that.” Percy stood beside Severus, glaring at the wheezing senior Auror while Auror Merry looked nervously between the two. 

“Should I detain them?” The junior Auror asked hesitantly.

“Oh, please do,” Percy ran a hand over Severus’ shoulder, pressing close to his lover’s side. “So that we can tell your superiors exactly what’s happened here.”

“We’re done here,” Savage hissed, glaring down at Percy as he straightened himself. “This will go in this month’s report.”

“I’m sure it will,” Percy smirked at Savage. “I can see it now. _Auror Savage was punched in the balls by an unarmed wizard half his size_. It will be the talk of the Department by noon tomorrow.”

Severus snorted out a laugh at that, schooling his expression when Savage and Merry blinked at him in confusion. “If there’s nothing else, gentlemen?”

Locking the door after these random visits always felt like such a futile thing to take comfort in. The lock wasn’t magical, the house didn’t have any enchantments on it other than the ones to track them and make sure that neither of them got _out_. It wasn’t enchanted to keep anything from coming _in_. Not Aurors, not Death Eaters, not even garden variety muggle burglars. But Percy still locked the doors tightly and sighed, resting his forehead against the door. 

“What were they talking about? The rumors?” Severus asked, attempting to sound casual, while Percy tried to compose himself. 

“Just rumors about how I got my job as personal assistant to the Minister of Magic,” Percy shrugged as he fiddled with the deadbolt. “They were floating around from day one when I was promoted. It was a job secured for me by Lucius Malfoy, that I knew, but apparently the majority of my duties were sexual in nature, according to the office grapevine.” Percy rolled his eyes as he turned to Severus. “If office gossip was to be believed, I had an illegal timeturner that allowed me to conduct endless affairs.”

He recognized the spark of jealousy in the man’s eye. It was a rare expression, but one that Percy had seen before. It was a dangerous emotion on Severus Snape and Percy found that, like many dangerous things, he had developed an appreciation for it. 

“Jealous, Severus?” Percy teased, smiling as he rested his back against the front door, his hands running over his thighs to rid himself of the nervous sweat. 

Severus slid closer to Percy, pressing him against the door more firmly. “I don’t like the thought of you being touched by anyone else.” Arguing with the man like this would be futile, not when his eyes were dark and sharp as needles, pinning Percy in place against the door. “Not even Lucius. The number of times I wanted to kill him were countless.”

Percy slid his fingers over Severus’ shoulders, smirking as he tilted his head for a barely-there brush of lips. “Are you going to punish me, Severus?” He teased, only to jump and shiver at the feeling of long, chilled fingers pressing against his stomach. Percy felt his lashes flutter as Severus’ hand slid into the front of his trousers, sharp, freshly-filed nails scraping over the tender skin of his stomach. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That is the plan,” Severus smirked, dark eyes narrowed as they stared down at Percy, pinning him in place with his free hand on Percy’s waist. Percy tilted his face to press his lips to Severus’ own, biting at the man’s lower lip as Severus growled low and hungry against his mouth. There was a brief thought that Savage and Merry could return, but that thought was summarily banished as Percy wrapped his arms around Severus’ body, clinging to him tightly as the older man shoved Percy’s full weight against the door. 

Some maneuvering and cursing that they couldn’t use magic later Severus had Percy’s legs wrapped around his waist, using his own weight to pin the younger man to the front door as they kissed and bit and felt the lean lines of one another’s bodies. They were thinner now, lean months made for leaner men, but Percy’s hands still found the sensitive places of Severus’ ribs beneath his muggle clothing while Severus pressed his leg between Percy’s thin thighs. 

It’s inelegant, clumsy, and Percy has never felt so desirable than in that moment, Severus growling jealously into his skin, biting and marking and leaving angry red scratches that bleed slightly across every vulnerable bit of Percy’s body. When Severus’ tight fist wrung a gasping, shaking orgasm from him Percy bit the man’s lip so hard he tasted blood, whimpering and sucking at the flavor of copper until they were both panting weakly and trembling with exertion.

Green eyes met pitch black and Percy smirked as he knelt down before the older man, yanking his belt open, pulling at buttons and zip until he could press his mouth to Severus’ hard length. The scrape of freshly sharpened nails against his scalp made Percy shiver and moan, but Severus’ words, growled into the quiet air of the house, were even better. 

“You’re mine, Percy,” He gasped at the feeling of Percy’s hands squeezing the sharp jut of his hip bones. “If I didn’t know any better, if I hadn’t ingested antidote after antidote, cast every countercurse I could think of, I’d say you had poisoned me with a love potion or cast a love spell on me all those years ago.” Percy moaned, looking up at Severus as the man cursed and moaned at the sight of him. “Fuck, you’re a terrible little minx and you’re _mine_.”

Practice was the only reason Percy didn’t choke or gag when Severus pressed his hips further forward, pinning Percy’s head against the door so that their eyes could meet more easily. When Severus came, shaking and groaning and pulling at Percy’s short curls, he was beautiful and perfect and Percy had never wanted a pensieve more than anything else before so that he could bottle and preserve that one moment forever.

* * *

Severus had found the VHS on their last trip to the local library. They had gotten a new batch of the blocky black boxes and Severus and Percy had combed through them. They had come away with _The Exorcist_ , _Monty Python’s Life of Brian_ , _Murder on the Orient Express_ , _The Wicker Man_ , and an animated version of _Rikki Tikki Tavi_ by some man named Chuck Jones that Severus had explained was one of Lily Potter’s favourite animators… Whatever that meant. 

“We used to watch Looney Tunes all the time at her house, every Saturday morning,” Severus said as he stood on a precarious bar stool, reaching up to the small television placed on a rickety shelf over the bar. Usually it was tuned in to the football matches or local news stations, but Severus had managed to dig up a VHS player from the back office and after some fiddling and plugging and unplugging managed to slot in the appropriate VHS. Susie watched the two of them, a rag in her hand as she rested her elbow on the bar, smiling her gap-toothed smile at the two of them. 

“Now don’t you go breakin’ your neck, you promised to watch the place while I got me lunch,” Susie waved her rag up at Severus, who grunted and turned on the television with a buzz of static electricity. Once she was sure he wouldn’t, in fact, break his neck, Susie turned and grabbed her purse from under the counter. “I’ll see you in an hour, Sev, mind the fort.”

“I promise not to blow it up,” Severus said as he poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey from a nearby bottle. Susie gave him a suspicious look, but bustled out, leaving Severus to be a warm body minding the place.

“And these Looney Tunes were made by this Chuck Jones character?” Percy asked as he squinted up at the screen.

“Yes,” A few regulars had already been settled with their drinks and meals, and they also were watching their usually sullen bartender light up at the title card appearing on the screen. 

It was a charming little film and Percy watched in fascination at the moving illustrations. Not nearly as sophisticated as magical ones, but it was admirable for a muggle, and likely quite time consuming, truly a labor of love in every inch of the animation. Severus laughed at some of the antics of the little cartoon mongoose on screen, smiling broadly as his eyes took in his favourite childhood tale come to life. Percy’s arm wrapped around Severus’ waist and he rested his head on the shoulder of the man, smiling up at Severus’ stern profile softened with delight. 

“Who do I have to fuck to get a beer in here?” A gruff, unfamiliar voice called out and Percy turned sharply, getting an equally uncouth laugh at the motion. “So you the pretty thing that replaced Susie?”

“Um, no…” Percy blinked and stared at the man, feeling as if he had taken a ride in the Knightbus and come to his destination suddenly. It was like looking at a much older Severus, instead of black hair the man was blonde with thick bands of grey along his temples in the same striations as Severus’ own. His nose was thick and his brow was set in a permanent scowl. The only true difference were the mouths and skin. While Severus was deathly pale, even after years outside of the dungeons of Hogwarts, this man was almost nut brown from years of being in the sun. He looked like Severus had when the man had dyed his hair blonde for a brief time and Percy wondered if perhaps there was something much deeper at play in that brief rebellion.

Severus’ back had stiffened beneath Percy’s hand and he wondered when that had happened, turning back to Severus, then looking at the man behind him. 

“Oh, so this is where you slunk off to? Your mum’s waiting outside the house,” The man barked as Severus straightened and stared down his nose at him. 

“I work here,” Severus said simply as he moved to stand behind the bar, turning off the television as Percy stared up at the man. “Percy, why don’t you go let my mother into the house? I’ll be there once Susie gets back from her break.”

“O-okay,” Percy cleared his throat and slid off the bar stool, still looking between the two before he quickly darted out of the bar, not wanting to see the fallout of the thunderous stares between the two men. 

At the termination of Spinner’s End was a woman and Percy stumbled as he stared at her. She was shorter than Severus, even shorter than the man that looked like Severus, but she had the same piercing, fathomless black eyes. She could have been a princess with how she held herself, spine straight, looking down her straight, austere nose at Percy as he approached her.

“A-ah, Missus Snape, I presume?” Percy held out his hand awkwardly, then wiped it on his thigh when she didn’t move to shake it. “I’m Percy, Percy Weasley, I’m your son’s… Um… I live here.” He gestured to the house. “He told me to come let you in while he finished up some business at the Matchbox.”

“So he turned into a drunk like his father?” She snapped, and it was the first words that she had spoken in the entire exchange. 

“Um… So I guess I should hide the booze inside the house, yeah?” Percy tried to joke as he inched past her and unlocked the house, holding the door open for her. “I’m sorry, should I call you Missus Snape, or would you prefer-”

“Missus Snape is perfectly fine, it is, in fact, my name,” The woman strode in and immediately scowled as she took in the sitting room. “Where is the couch?”

“Um… It got damaged, we had to get rid of it,” Percy rubbed at the back of his neck. He didn’t tell her that an Auror had destroyed the piece of furniture on their last inspection and Percy and Severus had thrown it into the Cokeworth tip and then proceeded to try and find a replacement in the garbage dump to no avail. “Tea, why don’t I make us some tea?” His hands were shaking as he walked into the piss yellow kitchen, with the sink still full of dishes from their breakfast. “Sorry, sorry, I’m, um - we weren’t expecting guests, I’m usually much cleaner than this.” He pulled Bathilda’s tea set from it’s shelf and put the kettle on.

What a week to try and give up smoking, he’d kill for a cigarette in that moment.

“Um, black tea or herbal?” Percy asked as he looked over his shoulder at the woman.

“It’s past two.” Was the only response he was given as this wisp of a little woman sat down in one of the two vinyl chairs of the kitchen. 

“I… Um… Herbal it is,” He scooped five scoops into the pot. One for Mister Snape, one for Missus Snape, one for Severus, one for himself, and one for the pot. He poured cream into the small creamer and checked the sugar bowl that it had the cubes and not the little skulls that Harry had gotten them as a joke for Severus’ birthday that year.

“Cream? In herbal tea?”

Percy shoved the creamer into the fridge. “Sorry, force of habit.”

The door opened and Percy would feel relief if he didn’t feel the tension rolling off of Severus in waves. It was like being back in Riddle House, seated across from Severus with Tom Riddle between. 

“Where’s the whiskey?” 

Severus sighed. “Percival, my mother Eileen, my father Tobias. Mother, Father, Percival.”

“The little poof you’re fuckin’,” Tobias grunted as he located a bottle of whiskey. “Read all about it in that book.”

“Book?” Percy asked, blinking at the couple then at Severus, who looked absolutely apoplectic at his father’s casual ownership of the house. “What _book_?”

Eileen pulled her purse into her lap and pulled a thick black-covered book with lurid green script on the front, framing a moving photograph of Severus on the cover. _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint_. Percy’s eyes fixed on the author name and scowled. Eileen placed the book on the kitchen table and Percy picked it up.

“Of course Rita Skeeter would write such garbage,” He flicked it open to the first page and his eyebrows shot up at the note written within in acid green ink. 

_Thank you for your assistance with this book, Eileen, it would never have been written without you! Rita_

Severus looked at his mother. “How much did she pay you?”

“Enough,” Eileen said simply. “She only asked about your childhood. I told her the truth, and however she decided to spin it I have no guilt on my conscience.”

“Yeah, but clearly I didn’t manage to beat enough shame into his scrawny little ass,” Tobias turned, pointing a finger at Severus. “A _student_? Not even some pretty little girl who could have squeezed out a bastard child for the Snape name? You went a fucked this disgrace?”

“There were four whole chapters on it,” Eileen said, giving her son a disapproving look. “We expected better behavior from you, especially when you worked with _children_ , Severus.”

“I was sixteen,” Percy said firmly, glaring at the couple as he grasped Severus’ clenched fist, trying to relax the man’s fingers so that he didn’t hurt himself with his nails biting into his palm. “I knew what I was doing.”

“Unlikely,” Tobias snorted, looking Percy over. “What, thought you were fucking some top dog? Sev here hasn’t ever had the spine to do anything but follow orders and run off cock tucked between his legs-”

Percy straightened and hissed. “Don’t you speak about him like that!” Silence, like everyone in the room stopped breathing and Percy felt rage boiling beneath his skin. “You’re an ignorant tasteless drunk who couldn’t find his own ass with a map and both hands! What have you been doing for the last twenty years except drinking yourself further into a stupor and beating your wife? Severus saved so many lives, he’s a fucking hero and he deserves more respect in his own fucking house than this!”

“It’s my house!” Tobias threw the whiskey bottle at Percy, who ducked and shouted back.

“That he bought to dig you out of debt, you bastard!” Every ounce of Gryffindor courage boiled up in him as Percy stood, nose to nose with Tobias Snape as if the man didn’t outweigh him by several stone and decades of hard physical labor. “You’re nothing. You’re not even worthy to lick the dirt off of your son’s boots and you’re going to die at the end of your miserable, unremarkable life and your wife is going to fucking _laugh_ when it happens!”

Percy expected the punch, braced for it, but he didn’t expect Severus flying past him to slam into his father’s bulk. Percy’s glasses crunched against his face and he cursed as glass dug into his cheekbone.

“Severus!” Eileen shouted and Percy blinked blood trickling down his brow out of his eye to watch his lover wrap long, thin fingers around his father’s neck, strangling the life out of the kicking and struggling man. “Severus, get off of him, knock it off!”

Percy watched for a few moments, feeling something dark and languid raise it’s ugly head inside him. When Tobias’ eyes rolled back in his skull and his hands dropped from Severus’ wrists, though, he reached down to grasp Severus’ arm. “Let him go, Severus.” He whispered. “He’s not worth time in Azkaban or muggle prison.”

Just like that the man was standing, staring down at Tobias as he stepped away. “Get out of my fucking house.” Severus hissed. “The next time I see you, you had better be in a fucking casket.”

Eileen helped her husband up, glaring at her son and Percy before the two of them stumbled out of the house. Once they were at the end of the walk there was a pop and Eileen apparated them away.

Severus sank into his chair, shoved into the corner beside the fireplace, and Percy climbed into his lap. Thin fingers pulled Percy’s glasses off and Percy winced as blood flowed freely and glass ground against bone. “This is going to hurt.” Severus whispered, using the points of his nails to pull out the larger chunks of glass. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Not yet.” Percy sighed, resting his forehead against Severus’. “Just… Let’s wait.”

“It went better than I expected.”

“Really? That was better than expected?”

“I had expected to kill him.”

They shared an exhausted, emotionally drained laugh, before they stood and Severus guided Percy to the second floor bathroom. He collected the first aid kit and had Percy sit on the closed toilet seat as he washed, disinfected, and then gently pressed butterfly bandages to the cuts. 

“You’re going to have another scar,” Severus whispered softly, frowning at him. “Foolish Gryffindor bravery.”

“It felt good,” Percy gave a weak laugh. “But I don’t think I’ll make a habit of it. I’ll leave that to my siblings.”

They kissed softly for a brief moment, and Severus sighed. “We’ll go to London tomorrow, get you to an optometrist.”

“Can we afford it?”

“We can afford you being blind even less.”

* * *

On a random Thursday in November Percy and Severus bundled in their good wool coats, after checking seams and elbows for moth holes, and took a bus into London. Severus called Harry while Percy sat in the optometrist’s office, asking nigh endless questions of the woman as she smiled and explained the different glass slides and how she used them to calculate Percy’s prescription. As they moved on to stronger and stronger prescriptions she laughed a bit. 

“Blind as a little bat, aren’t you?” She asked, smiling as she wrote out the prescription. “You can go hand this to the attendant at the front after you’ve picked out some frames.”

Severus was sitting in the glasses shop section of the office, squinting down at the book that Eileen had left at their house. The optometrist scowled at him before she placed her hands on her hips. 

“Do you need glasses, sir?”

Percy had never seen Severus look more like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. “Did the brat tell you that?” Severus asked as he glared at Percy accusingly. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“What does that sign over there say?” The woman pointed at a sign that Percy definitely couldn’t read without his glasses, and Severus squinted at it before he glared at the woman. 

“Fine. I will book an appointment.”

“I’m free now,” She smirked, gesturing for Severus to follow her. “While Mister Weasley gets his own frames picked out, we’ll get you sorted.”

It didn’t take long for Percy to find a set of glasses similar to his own. The frames were rounder, but they were still horn-rimmed with gold on the bottom, but green tortoiseshell along the brows and ear pieces. He figured that Severus would like the colors. When the older man finally came out, clutching a prescription and looking sour, Percy smiled broadly at him.

“So, Mister Snape, what sort of glasses should we get for you?” Percy smirked as he picked through the frames, squinting and hovering inches from them over time. 

“Something subtle,” Severus huffed as he looked at the various frames.

Percy plucked a pair that were clear plastic rims, rounded, and perfectly suited to the dark, piercing gaze of his lover. He rested them gently on Severus’ face and smiled as they stood, practically nose to nose. “These ones.”

“And you can tell these suit me, hmm?”

“Absolutely,” Percy rested his hands on Severus’ cheeks, drawing him down for a kiss. “You always have been, and always will be, the sexiest blur.”

* * *

“How does that look?” 

Percy looked down at the beautiful design placed over his arm where the Dark Mark once lay, now only scar tissue. Aloe, red carnation, moly, red hollyhock, interspersed with the long, serpentine body of a brown mongoose with it’s jaws opened in a wide grin. Percy smiled broadly at the design wrapped around his forearm, nodding quickly as he looked over at the tattooist’s apprentice working on Severus’ own arm.

“How does yours look?” Percy asked as he craned his neck. In a moment the man turned and laid his own arm out alongside Percy’s. Myrtle, red salvia, dill, red snapdragon, held in the small but leathery embrace of a small long-eared bat. Percy smiled broadly and leaned over to steal a kiss from Severus. “Do you like it?”

“I’ll like it more in color,” Severus whispered, smiling down at Percy. “Red and green.”

“Alright then, no changes, eh?” The artist smiled as she pulled on some new nitrile gloves, her tattooed arms flexing as she reached out to prepare her black inks and colors and a variety of needles. “Once it goes on there’s no wiping it back off.”

“It’s perfect,” Severus said simply, looking at the woman with an arched brow. “You are quite the master of your craft, Madam Valerian.”

“Now don’t go saying that until you see the final product, Mister Snape,” Valerian laughed. “Alright, we’re going to start with blacks and then add the colors after.” 

It didn’t take much for them to get settled, Percy loosely tangling his right hand’s fingers with Severus’ own as they laid down, Master working on Percy’s arm while Apprentice worked on Severus’. It was not nearly as painful as the Dark Mark had been, a dull ache that tickled in some place and turned to a sharper pain in others. There were a few moments where Percy’s right hand tensed, and Severus’ echoed it as they laid there, idly chatting with the tattooists and one another. 

“Alright then,” Valerian checked her apprentice’s work and smiled as she nodded. “Everything looks up to snuff, we’re just going to clean this up a little bit and then wrap the tattoo just for you to get back home, make sure to give it plenty of time to breathe and try not to keep it covered.” Valerian rolled her small stool over to a file folder and held out a care sheet to Percy. “And keep it hydrated with a water-based tattoo salve, you can find them at most any chemist.”

They paid and then boarded the bus back to Cokeworth, sitting side by side. Percy peeled back his sleeve to look at the saran-wrapped forearm. It was perfect in every way and when he looked at Severus the man smiled back at him, holding his left arm out to Percy as well. 

“No more Dark Marks,” He whispered, leaning over to kiss Percy gently. 

“No more dark days,” Percy whispered back, pressing his own nose to Severus’. “Happy Lupercalia.”

* * *

Harry Fucking Potter was getting _fucking_ married. Percy scowled at the wedding invitation in distaste and contemplated lighting it on fire. He turned on the gas range, watching the pilot light catch, and then instead leaned over to light a cigarette. 

“Those things are going to kill you,” Severus said as he read the paper. Percy sometimes wondered why Cokeworth had its own paper. Nothing of note ever happened in the town. 

“Great, I should smoke two at once,” Percy mumbled around his cigarette. “Ginny and Harry are getting married.” He handed Severus the invitation. “He’s your godson, do you want to go?”

“She’s your sister, do you?” Severus asked as he picked up the invitation and read the information. He was greying at the temples and it made him quite distinguished, it suited him. 

“I don’t want to see and celebrate the man who deflowered my baby sister,” Percy scoffed as he read over the invitation again, scowling and trying not to think of the publicity circus the event would probably be. The Boy Who Lived Twice, the Wizarding World’s Most Eligible Bachelor, getting married. “I doubt she actually expects me to show up,” Percy shrugged and took a long drag of his cigarette as he flicked through the rest of the mail. Coupons, bills, bills, more bills, and a catalog that he had no idea how to get them to stop sending to the house. It’d make good kindling in the winter, so he put it on the stack. “Don’t know how they expect us to even get there.”

“I’m sure they’d find a way,” Severus placed the invitation down and looked at Percy. “Do you want to go?”

He did, but he also didn’t. “It’s complicated.”

There was a muggle mailing address, a post office box that Harry had likely set up for his muggle contacts. Last Percy had heard from one of the boy’s sporadic letters he had reconciled with Petunia and Dudley after his uncle Vernon’s death. The allowance that he had offered them had only lasted for a year, but the letters kept coming, so Severus kept responding out of politeness.

“Why don’t we go,” Severus marked “Yes” on the RSVP card in his spidery scrawl. “I’ll post this on the way to the bar tomorrow.”

It was a June wedding and for six months Percy made sure to scrimp and save until they had enough money to go into London and be fitted for muggle suits. Their robes had been confiscated along with all magical accouterments, all except for Severus’ books, which Percy was sure was a mercy that Harry had fought for them. 

Standing waiting in the well maintained back yard of Spinner’s End in one June afternoon they waited and Percy wrung his fingers nervously until Severus laced their hands together. 

Bill was the one to arrive and Percy wanted to back out, to say that he felt ill, but his brother merely gave him a smile, a hug, and Severus a firm handshake before he sidealong apparated them to the Burrow.

It was a beautiful wedding, Percy would give them that. He cried at the handfasting vows that Harry and Ginny had written for one another and Severus rested a hand gently on his back to soothe the tears. There were piles of presents on a table and Severus hesitated before he self consciously handed the happy couple a bottle with a clean white label on it. 

“Percy said you’d both appreciate this,” He scowled down at the bottle. “I now see that it is… Inadequate.”

“Hand lotion?” Harry asked curiously.

“You are both prodigious Quidditch players,” Severus gestured. “This is a natural remedy to any callouses, blisters, or splinters. It contains witch hazel and a few other ingredients listed on the back.” He sniffed as he looked down his hooked nose at his godson and Percy smiled fondly at the man. “I’m sure even you two would be able to recreate this if necessary, but otherwise I will provide you with more.” Clearly neither Percy nor Severus had expected the tight hug from Harry, but Severus returned the embrace, whispering softly to Harry, “Your mother would be so proud.”

When the reception was well under way Fred and George plied both of them with booze aplenty. Severus was introduced to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes brand Giggle Water and the entire table had watched as Severus erupted into uncontrollable giggles even as his expression remained just as tight and severe as ever.

“It could have been worse,” Percy smirked as he looked at Severus as the twins made a break for it, Percy’s hand in Severus’ sleeve keeping him from following the two younger Weasleys. “They could have transfigured you into a six foot tall hamster that communicates through belching.”

“They really were quite ingenious at potions,” Severus took a sip of firewhiskey from Percy’s half-empty glass to wash down the last of the Giggle Water. “If only they had actually applied themselves at their NEWTs instead of making a scene with Umbridge… They could have been quite well reknowned Potions Masters.”

“They seem happy,” Percy shrugged, resting his hand on Severus’. Everyone at this wedding knew who they were. Their faces had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet for a while, not to mention Rita Skeeter’s hatchet job of a book. Everyone knew what they were to one another, what they had done and sacrificed for one another. “Are you happy?” He asked Severus softly, staring up at the man. 

Those dark eyes looked at him and Severus smiled, lacing their fingers together. “You make me happy, Percy.”

The overjoyed and slightly tipsy bride and groom came over to them then, Harry grasping at Severus’ sleeve and grinning down at him. “Come on, Snape, my parents aren’t here for a dance, so you’re the next best thing.”

“Oh, goody goody gumdrops,” Severus sneered as he stood, alcohol making his strides much more lazy. “A whole three minutes of you trodding on my feet.”

“Come on, Percy,” Ginny took Percy’s own hand, smiling at him. “I had a turn with all my other brothers, now it’s your turn.”

“I think I got the better partner of you two,” Percy smiled as he walked with his sister out to the dance floor. Harry, true to Severus’ prediction, was stepping clumsily on Severus’ feet, but smiled through all of the older man’s complaints and stiff directions and “put your hand on my waist, Potter”.

Ginny had grown up in the years and Percy smiled down at her. She was beautiful, no more puppy fat, no more awkward teenage proportions making her gangly like a filly stumbling out to pasture. She had a scar on her cheek from where he had cut her on one of his visits to Hogwarts in that last fraught year. He reached up and his brows furrowed as he stared and stroked his thumb over the scar. 

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.” He whispered as he looked down at her. “For everything. 

Ginny smiled up at him and it was a sad expression. “I saw the memories. All of them.” Percy closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. “When you were… In the Shack.”

“I saw you in the window,” Percy whispered, looking down at Ginny. “You and Ron. I never wanted you two to see me like that. I never wanted…” He never wanted things to play out the way they had. “I’m sorry, Gin.”

“I forgive you, Tonic.”

A tap on Ginny’s shoulder and the two of them looked up to see Severus looking as severe as ever, save the flush across his cheeks that indicated the dance with Harry Potter had sufficiently gotten his heart rate up. “Might I have this dance?”

Ginny laughed and pulled back, releasing Percy to Severus, who quickly swept Percy into his arms, turning him in a loose circle until they gave Ginny and Harry enough room to dance together. Neither of them knew the song that was playing, but the music was sweeping and wonderful and Severus guided Percy in a dance that he vaguely identified as a waltz. He had never danced at any of Lucius’ many soirées and hadn’t wanted to dance with anyone else at the Yule Ball all those years ago except Severus and that couldn’t happen. 

“You’re a good dancer,” Percy whispered as he allowed himself to be swept close to the man, their faces at kissing distance as the song faded into another, their heartbeats pounding in time together. Percy smiled when he heard the sound of Karen Carpenter’s voice singing “Yesterday Once More” as Severus drew him closer. 

“There’s something to be said for it,” Severus said after a long silence. 

_Every Sha-la-la-la… Every Wo-o-wo-o… Still shines…_

Percy looked up at the man, hazy with booze and the scent of Severus’ cologne. “Dancing?”

“Marriage.”

_Every shing-a-ling-a-ling… That they're startin' to sing's… So fine…_

“Surely you’re joking,” Percy smirked up at Severus. “The great and terrifying Severus Snape, contemplating marriage?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Severus sniffed as he looked down his hooked nose at Percy in a way that was very much Professor Snape, to the point where Percy couldn’t contain a drunken giggle at the sight. “Marriage is a nightmare.”

“Agreed,” Percy’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at his lover.

“We should never get married.”

“Absolutely, you’re right.”

“We already live together, joint finances and bills, what more could marriage do for us?”

“Nothing at all.”

_All my best memories… Come back clearly to me… Some can even make me cry… Just like before… It’s yesterday once more…_

They slipped away from the edge of the dance floor and outside the soft glowing lights of the wedding. They were careful not to cross the boundaries of the Burrow’s property, lest the wedding be swarmed with Aurors come to recapture two dangerous escaped criminals, but far enough that they couldn’t hear individual conversations. Severus’ fingers stroked over Percy’s softly and he frowned as he stared down at their joined hands.

“I… I am a difficult man,” He started, clearing his throat, and Percy felt his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Absolutely awful,” Percy agreed airily enough, smiling at Severus encouragingly. 

“Impossibly arrogant.”

“I have it on good authority that I’m a brat.”

“My family is a nightmare I have no contact with.”

“That’s fine, my family hates me.”

“Most dirt is richer than I am.”

“I don’t care.”

“I placed the burden of becoming a spy for the Order on you, without regard for whether it would be the best decision for you,” Severus averted his gaze.

Percy reached up and turned his face back so that he could look in those perfect, endless black eyes. “I made my choice. I chose you.”

Severus didn’t kneel, he didn’t move other than to reach one hand into his pocket, pulling out a small ring set with a green stone framed by two rubies and two diamonds. 

“It was Grandmother Prince’s,” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been… I inherited it from her when I was a teenager. It is… It is the last of the Prince fortune and I was never able to part with it.”

“Yes,” Percy looked at Severus, smiling at him. “Of course I’ll marry you, Severus.” He leaned forward and stole a soft kiss. “Silly man.”

They returned to the wedding and Percy didn’t put on the ring until they got home, surprised that it fit so well. As they lay in their bed, Percy looked at Severus and stroked his hand over the man’s cheek, tracing his eyes, crowsfeet dug deep into the corners, the line where his brows were near constantly furrowed, frown lines at his mouth, and the sharp curve of his nose, leading to his chin, the curve of a thin lower lip. 

“You really do look like a Prince,” He whispered, smiling at Severus. “My Prince Charming.”

* * *

“You know next year we’ll be given our wands back,” Percy said casually as he flicked through the bills that still needed to be paid. Electricity was always top of the list, water second, gas third, but thankfully this month they were able to pay all three up front without having to touch their hard-earned savings. Severus was cooking dinner, simple tinned tomato soup and toast, but Severus plucks some basil from the small bush that has somehow taken up residence on the kitchen window sill in the past few years. 

A lot of things had changed in ten years. Where previously there were signs of life, but only on the surface, only enough to show that _someone_ occupied 14 Spinner’s End, now there were signs of the two of them. 

They had replaced the sofa in the living room, an antique found at an estate sale hosted by St. Mark’s when one of their congregation had passed. It was green velvet and brown walnut and it went well with the black leather of Severus’ own chair beside the fireplace. There were Severus’ collection of magical and muggle books, but now inbetween thick tomes on spell creation and grimoires of potions ingredients were Percy’s own texts on divination, romantic novels he had picked up at bargain bins, and a variety of cookbooks he had intended to use to learn how to cook but had ended up being assimilated into Severus’ collection of the shelves. In the bathroom there were two toothbrushes, two sets of hair products (one for straight, oily hair, another for dry scalp and curls), two sets of glasses cleaners and cases, two sets of towels and two sets of soaps. Further still in the neatly organized bedroom their clothes were carefully divided, their shoes lined up side by side, both of the mismatched nightstands on either side of the bed had their own evening reading upon the sides. 

It wasn’t a perfect home, but it was home. After ten years it felt as if they had fallen into a bearable, if mundane, routine. 

Severus placed a bowl of soup in front of Percy and Percy placed the bills aside. “What brought this line of thought up?”

“Just thinking of what we might do with freedom,” Percy smiled as he dipped a golden triangle of toast into the tomato soup. “We could do anything. Go to Diagon Alley… Get some dinner at the Leaky Cauldron?” Percy gasped and straightened, smiling brightly at Severus. “We could open an apothecary!”

“And be driven out of town with pitchforks and torches?” Severus gave Percy a look. “Be realistic, Percy, we wouldn’t even be able to get the shop off the ground, not in Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley or anywhere in the whole of England for that matter.”

“What about outside of England?” Percy stood and went into the sitting room, coming back with an atlas that he had gotten on his trip to Cairo. It purported to show every magical community in all of the world, and Percy had never had reason to use it until now. “Where should we go?”

“Someplace where English is the common tongue,” Severus said simply. “Or German, I’m sure I can brush up on my German.”

“We could go to Romania even?” Percy smiled. “I’m sure that the dragon reserves could use potions masters and administrative assistants?” 

“I prefer electricity being freely available,” Severus scowled and Percy knew he was thinking of Charlie Weasley and how quickly word would get back to the rest of the clan. 

“Australia?”

“Too hot.”

“Canada!”

“Too cold.”

Percy flicked to another page and smile broadly. “What about _New_ England?” He turned the atlas and showed Severus a small map of magical New England. “Look, this one looks promising, Sleepy Hollow.”

It was a small dot on the map, tucked away within a thick density of trees, bordered by rivers, with curling, winding roads. “It says there is a muggle population there as well.” Severus hummed curiously and Percy smiled as he read the small blurb written on the town.

“ _Made famous by the fictional work by Washington Irving, Sleepy Hollow has been known as one of the most haunted sites in America and collects a very niche type of tourism in the charming town. Magical communities and ongoings are brushed off as part of the supernatural charm of the town and are widely accepted by the Mundane community, allowing magical businesses to thrive within its boundaries_.” Percy smiled up at Severus. “Should I write them? There’s a representative’s address on here.”

Severus frowned and sipped at his soup primly. “If you feel you must.”

Percy frowned right back at the man, tucking the atlas away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” The man lied, attempting to sound casual.

“Severus, you cannot just shut me out,” Percy scowled. “We have a life together-”

“One that you seem so quick to abandon.” Severus snapped, glaring at Percy. “I like this house, and our life, and… Well not necessarily the people, but I have never liked _people_.” Long fingers clenched on the edge of the table and Percy’s scowl softened in confusion as he stared at his lover. “I don’t want to change. I want to… I want to rest. I want us to grow old together.”

“And I want us to be happy,” Percy whispered, his fingers brushing over Severus’ knuckles soothingly. “Severus, you can’t be… You can’t really be happy with this?” He gestured to the window, to Spinner’s End, to Cokeworth. “Living and dying in the same place all your life? Never being a potion’s master again? Keeping bar while I work at a beauty salon?”

They sat in silence as their soup grew cold in the chill of the house, their hands being a single warm point of contact. 

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Severus whispered, looking anywhere but Percy. “I don’t want us to… To go elsewhere and for you to see that you’ve saddled yourself with me. That you’ve wasted nearly two decades of your life with a bitter, angry old hermit.”

Silence.

“I can’t stay in Spinner’s End all my life, Severus,” Thin fingers clenched on the table and Percy soothed them gently. “I love you. I promise not to ask of you anything that I know you couldn’t handle, but you have to… You have to trust me when I say I could never want anyone but you.” 

Dark eyes inched their way up, stopping at Percy’s shirt collar, unable to meet Percy’s own gaze. “Not even Lucius Malfoy?”

As laughable as the idea was, Percy simply shook his head. “Never. I could never love a man who knowingly put me in danger for his own selfish ends.” 

“I put you in danger,” Severus looked at Percy. “Every day for years I put you in mortal peril.”

“I made the choice,” Percy stood, sweeping around the table to draw Severus into his arms, the older man’s face pressed to Percy’s neck, dampening his collar with silent tears. Thin arms clung to Percy’s waist, holding him tightly. “I chose you, Severus. I will always choose you.”

* * *

“And how much would growing our own myrtle cost us at startup?” Percy frowned as he looked down at the keyboard of the laptop. It was a pawnshop find that had been less than a hundred pounds and after taking it to Gene Curry down the road from the beauty salon it was perfectly serviceable for their purposes. 

“About ten quid per plant and we’d want at least ten plants, so roughly a hundred,” Severus murmured as he sorted through his old diaries, marking pages for copying and transcribing into the spreadsheet that Percy was slowly putting together. “This machine is a demon, I swear.”

“I told you to take the computer literacy courses, Severus,” Percy smiled as he tapped a key, only to delete the cell he had just filled in. “Fuck, wait, okay, there it is… And converting that currency to wizarding…” Percy cursed as the spreadsheet gave him an error code. “Where did I go wrong?”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Do you want an updated inventory system for everything?” Percy raised a brow at Severus. “Or do you want our essential shelf-stable products to run out and you to constantly be making basics?”

Severus scowled and glared down at Percy’s old Sixth Year potions book. Severus had spent the last few years clawing at the walls for any ability to work with potions. His lotions and soaps were one thing, but it would never replace truly working with magical ingredients. It’s what kept him going, now, the promise that when this was all over that they could open an apothecary somewhere. Muggle, magical, it didn’t matter, they could do whatever they wanted, wherever they wanted. 

“What’s this?” Severus asked curiously, turning over an old diary of Percy’s. Percy squinted, then flushed brightly as Severus opened the worn pages. 

“O-oh, it’s nothing,” Percy cleared his throat, looking back at the computer screen intently. “Just a diary I kept before my Hogwarts years, back when all we could do was the usual intention work kids do instinctively.”

Severus stared down at the pages, smiling softly as he turned them, reading the spells and workings of a very young Percy. Percy’s handwriting had been clumsy as a child, but every letter was even and painstakingly done, each page titled with the spell or date. So when Severus froze, staring down at one particular page, Percy craned his neck to see what he was reading. 

_Summoning My True Love_

“O-oh, you don’t want to read that silly thing,” Percy tittered as he grabbed the book, hugging it close to his chest and flushing brightly. “It was just a silly thing from when I was a child. 

“Eyes like the night sky, full of stars,” Severus stared at Percy. “Intelligent and quick, but kind and fair.”

Percy looked down at the pages and ran his fingers over the spell. “Who can play the piano and loves plants.”

“You summoned me,” Severus whispered and Percy shrugged, avoiding Severus’ gaze. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Percy huffed, fiddling with the pages. “I’m hardly a master spellcaster, I couldn’t summon you out of thin air.”

“Older magic than mere incantations,” Severus cupped Percy’s jaw and tilted his chin. “Perhaps that is why you were quite good at the darker arts, at spells written in diaries long forgotten, perhaps old magic is where your true talents lie.”

His face was red, he could feel it, and he pouted up at Severus quietly. “Don’t poke fun at me.”

“I’m not,” Severus’ lips pressed to his, stealing the kiss. “I’m marveling at you.”

* * *

“Stop fussing,” Severus called from the door to the bedroom. “We’re going to be late.”

“What if my father is there?” Percy fussed with a particularly unruly curl that kept springing free of the product Percy had used in an attempt to smooth out his hair. “What if _Umbridge_ is there?”

“Oh, Kemp’s Curse-” Severus stepped forward and turned Percy away from the mirror. “Here.” He ran his fingers through Percy’s hair, coiling the stray curl around a long finger until it fell more naturally into Percy’s face. His own hair was silky soft and neatly combed, no longer greasy from hours of standing over potions. He wore his simple round glasses with the transparent frames and a black shirt with white cuffs and collar beneath a cable knit jumper that Percy had long ago dyed black when he went into his foray of thrift shopping. He was thinner, they both were, but they looked healthier than they had during their time under Voldemort’s thumb. “What are you smiling about?” Severus asked as he looked do*wn at his lover, drawing his knuckles over the younger man’s cheek. 

Percy stood on his tip toes and kissed Severus softly. “I can’t believe this is finally happening.”

“Ten years is a long time to wait for something,” Severus smiled. “Come on, we need to get to London.”

It was a long bus ride, but they made it to the Ministry’s guest entrance just in time for the lunch rush, the two of them blending into the crowds of wizards and witches bustling about to get a quick, hot meal in. 

The statue of muggles being crushed under the might of the Ministry of Magic had been removed. In its place stood a new monument of a witch in classic robes and hat, broom in hand, holding her child close to her chest, staring into the middle distance. Percy liked this one much better than the previous statues but didn’t say anything as he kept up with Severus’ brisk pace. 

The reception witch looked up at them, frowning as she recognized their faces. “Names?”

“Severus Snape and Percival Weasley, here for our appointment,” Severus looked down his nose at the witch. “Miss Pennyworthy.”

Miss Pennyworthy flushed and coughed. “It’s, um, it’s Mathis now, Professor Snape.”

“Hmm,” Severus raised a brow at the woman. “And who might we be seeing today in order to get our wands back?”

“Ah, um, Mafalda Hopkirk has been assigned your case,” The witch nervously fiddled with the memo before her. “She’s on ground six.”

“Thank you,” Percy smiled at the witch and dragged Severus to the elevators, kissing the man’s cheek as the bars closed behind them and they reached up to grasp the handles. “You didn’t have to put on your scary professor voice.”

“She was a poor student, how can I trust her skills as an administrator.”

“Was she a poor student, or are your standards merely ridiculously high?”

“You met my standards with ease.”

“I am an anxious mess of a human being, Severus, always have been. I cried when I got my first Exceeds Expectations.”

The automated voice interrupted whatever Severus had been prepared to snipe back at him, announcing that they had arrived at _Level Six: Department of Magical Reintegration_.

“That’s a new one,” Percy whispered as he glanced around the department, leading the way through the hallways. “They rennovated. This use to be Umbridge’s offices.”

“One can hope that she’s been sacked,” Severus murmured under his breath. 

“None of us are so lucky,” A familiar voice called out and Percy turned, smiling at Mafalda as she held out her arms to him. “Percy.” She gave him a tight hug, her smart purple and cream striped dress decorated with a gleaming gold Ministry of Magic pin. 

“Mafalda, it’s been too long,” Percy smiled as he kissed her cheeks. “How have you been?”

“Absolutely stunning,” Mafalda smiled as she led the two of them along. “I’m head of the department now! Set it all up myself after Yo - Tom Riddle’s reign of terror ended.” Her office was decorated in tasteful creams, with splashes of Ministry purple in the carpet, wall art, and a rather lovely looking couch that was set before Mafalda’s desk. “Now we have some paperwork to do, and once we fill this out you’ll be released from your bonds and then you’ll be allowed to go down to the vaults. Your previous belongings have been kept there under a blood spell and will only be accessible by you two.” Mafalda looked at Severus, who had been silent the entire trip and explanation. “Professor Snape-”

“Mister Snape, now, or Master Snape if you prefer my official title,” Severus cleared his throat, clearly nervous as he clutched at Percy’s hand. 

“Master Snape, your potions ingredients have been placed under stasis, but I will say that I am not sure how much of that has managed to preserve them, or the potions that we confiscated. You might find that some have spoiled in their time in the vault.”

“As is to be expected,” Severus nodded. “I had expected this eventuality, but I thank you for attempting to preserve my lab contents anyway.”

Mafalda smiled and Percy was quietly grateful that she had been the one assigned to them. “Now, may I have your left hands?”

The two of them held out their hands and Percy felt the tingle of magic as Mafalda pricked their fingers before guiding them to press to the parchment before them. “Here.” She flicked to another piece of paper. “And here… Here… And this one too… Three on this page, I apologize.”

When they finally made it to the final page Percy and Severus touched their fingers to the bottom line and their signatures sprawled across the page instinctively. There was a tingle, and then a rush and Percy gasped as he felt suddenly dizzy with the feeling of his own magic coursing through him. Severus let in a sharp inhale, but didn’t move any further than to grasp at Percy’s knee tightly. The hanging ropes charmed to look like silver necklaces dropped their disguises and fell limply to the ground, like dead snakes suddenly falling from their shoulders, relieving the two men of the weight they had carried for a decade.

“Are you alright?” Mafalda asked, conjuring a tea set. “Peppermint tea helps, I’ve been told.”

“Thank you,” Percy whispered weakly, accepting the cup. “No sugar for him.”

Severus nodded mutely and accepted his own cup of peppermint tea, the two of them sipping at the fine white china as Mafalda stood and moved to a locked cabinet behind her desk. Inside were thin cardboard wand boxes, almost identical to Ollivander wand boxes, and Percy felt his heart leap into his throat as only one box was produced. 

“Now, Percy,” Mafalda looked apologetically at the younger man. “Your wand was, regrettably, a stolen one and as such was returned to the rightful owner after your trial and sentencing. The Ministry has given you an allowance for acquiring a new one and that allowance comes to two galleons.” She placed the round coins before Percy, and turned to Severus. “Master Snape, this is your own wand, if you could open the box and verify that it indeed your wand and that any damage to it is noted here on this document.”

Severus hesitated only for a second before he was opening the box, sliding his ebony wand out. His hand wrapped about the simple handle and he let out a sigh of relief. “Yes.” He whispered, reading the document before him and signing off. “Thank you, Miss Hopkirk.”

“Mafalda will do,” The woman smiled and Percy smiled back.

“Thank you, Mafalda, you’ve been…” He didn’t have the words for what she had been to them. Understanding, kind, generous.

“I believe that you kept an eye out for me while you worked here, Percy,” Mafalda whispered, smiling at him. “At great personal risk. Being the one to maintain your case, to do this… It’s the least I could do.”

Percy nodded, feeling tears in his eyes. “Thank you… For… For helping. For everything. For… For believing the best of me.”

The woman stood, stepping around her desk to give Percy a tight hug. “You were always such a good boy, Percy, and I’m only sorry that I had to wait ten years to tell you that.” Mafalda pulled back, adjusting her robes before Percy cleared his throat and looked down at Severus with a smile. “Now then, I’m sure you’re both eager to get your possessions back, test out your magic, maybe go into Diagon Alley and see how things have changed.” She waved her wand and a small dormouse patronus was produced, the little creature scampering off. “Just follow the patronus and you will be able to access your vaults.”

“Thank you, Mafalda,” Percy smiled and when he and Severus turned to follow the mouse the door closed behind them. 

It was several floors down and through a series of winding hallways, nearly a half an hour walk, before they made it to a corridor that was guarded by a goblin. The irritated looking goblin leaned forward and squinted down from his podium, careful not to topple the nameplate that read _R. Fingersmith_ from the edge of the podium. “Master Severus Tobias Snape?”

“Yes,” Severus nodded. 

“Mister Percival Ignatius Weasley?”

“Yes,” Percy grasped at Severus’ hand tightly, nervously. 

“Hmph,” Fingersmith gestured to a sign in sheet hung just at eye level. “Sign on the next lines, the time and date will be added automatically.”

Severus glanced around for a pen before he pressed his wand tip to each of their fingers. When the drops of blood were smeared on the parchment they coiled and looped into signatures and the time and date. Fingersmith signed off on a slip of paper above them and there was the rip of perforated paper and a small slip was delivered to them. 

“This series of vaults is connected to Gringotts. Following your emptying of your Ministry vault you will be allowed to return here to the Ministry or to continue through to Gringotts, so I ask now, do you have any business in the Ministry?”

Percy glanced at Severus and cleared his throat as he shook his head. “Not at present, no, Gringotts would be preferable.”

“Very well, come along then.”

The trip to the vault was in a purple painted Gringott’s cart that rattled along just as dangerously as the ones from the banking institution’s main entrance. When they arrived at the vault labelled “Percival Weasley” he felt embarrassed at such a small amount of possessions kept within. 

His scroll case, copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art, and wand had been confiscated as evidence, so all that was left were a few diaries, his tarot cards, a scant number of school textbooks that he had purchased with his own money, his wand holster, and his charmed messenger bag were all that were left. Percy rested his hand upon the leather case of the cards and took a deep breath before he drew one card out. 

Death. 

Percy smiled at that and slid the card back into the case before he kissed the smooth leather. “Thank you, old friend.” He whispered before he wrapped his holster about his wrist and then placed everything else into the charmed bag. In a few moments his vault was painfully bare and Severus’ vault was the next stop. 

Severus’ vault, in turn, had possessions from not only Spinner’s End, but his quarters in the Hogwarts dungeons, as well as the Headmaster’s office. Severus waved his wand and in a moment items were wrapping themselves in protective cloths, shrinking and dancing their way into Percy’s open bag. 

“Some of the ingredients have spoiled,” Severus groused, and Percy smiled.

“Put them in the bag, we can go through them later,” He didn’t say that he didn’t want them stuck in the Ministry’s bowels for longer than necessary, he was sure Severus felt the same.

Walking out of Gringotts, into Diagon Alley, for the first time in ten years, Percy was struck by how things had changed. 

Fortesque’s was gone, as well as Eeylops, Flourish and Blotts, and Ollivanders’. There were new shops in their places and when Percy took in the vibrancy of everything around them it was overwhelming. In his dull brown muggle clothing he felt out of place standing among the crowds of witches and wizards. Many people gave them glances, and then followed with a double take, staring when they recognized Severus and Percy. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Severus whispered and Percy glanced up, squeezing the man’s hand tightly. “We can leave.”

“Why - why don’t we go find a wand shop?” Percy asked with a smile. “I need that at the very least so that you’re not the only one doing all the packing.” Severus frowned, clearly thinking that Percy was putting a brave face on things, but nodded. 

It took a few tries before they found the new wand shop, Flitwicks Wandworks, and were met with a tall, slender man with frizzy white hair and a smiling face. “Hello! Welcome to Flitwicks Wandworks, please, let me know if you need assistance in your selection or if you would like a custom wand made.” The man’s words were enunciated clearly and clearly rehearsed, but his smile was genuine and when Severus’ own lips twitched into a smile Percy knew that the mannerisms had struck with him as well.

“How is Filius, Mister Flitwick?” Severus asked, folding his hands while Percy drifted towards the shelves filled with slim, black boxes embossed with a custom seal. 

“Oh, absolutely splendid! He’s Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts now that Minerva is Headmistress, which just tickles us pink, doesn’t it Didi?”

“Hmph, if our son had half a thought in his head then he’d have come here and helped us with the business,” A husky voice growled from the back of the shop and Percy turned, gasping in delight at the enormous worktable, protected by a glass wall, that allowed people to view the construction of wands. “Don’t gawk, it’s rude.”

The goblin woman had rings upon every finger and lines of earrings along her pointed ears. Her teeth were pure gold and in her nose were three loops of gold. Her hair was pitch black, clearly where Filius got his own dark colorations, and her eyes were equally dark as they fixed on Percy. She had the typical wrinkles of goblins, her thin lips pulled back to reveal her teeth, but as Percy watched her hands skillfully craft the wands, carving wooden handles with care and precision, he could see how Mister Flitwick had been drawn to her. 

“Um, I’ve just never seen wands made before.” Percy stood right before the glass, looking in fascination at the line of hollowed wand shafts. “How is it done?”

Didi Flitwick gave him a silent, assessing look before she showed him a tower of simple rectangular blocks of wood. “Go there and bring me one that calls to you.”

“Um, my old wand was-”

“I don’t care what your old wand was, this is a new one,” Didi didn’t look up from her task of carefully turning the wand handle, forming careful bumps. “You are not the same person who was first chosen by your old wand, it stands to reason that if you have been changed by your circumstances that what elements are drawn to you will change as well.”

It made sense, but it still made Percy nervous. “What if… What if I choose the wrong things?”

“The right things will choose you,” Didi’s voice was gentler as she looked at him, her attention pulled fully from the completed wand before her. Her rings clinked against one another as she folded her hands and waited. “Choose the wood first, then the core.”

Percy traced his fingers over wood, closing his eyes so as not to be deceived by the colors. He thought of what he had learned, how he had changed, who he was as a person now. Years among muggles had changed him, yes, but even before that, his time among Death Eaters, his life filled with lies, had changed him even more.

There was certainty in himself now. He had once been malleable to the wills of others, had once accepted scraps, but hungered and clawed for more, had used dark magics to achieve even darker means and lived through it all. He had made peace with his decisions, the hot burn of shame had faded, sputtered out like a candle in a storm. 

_Understanding_ , said something deep within him, and his fingers closed around a rectangular block of wood. 

“Black Walnut, interesting,” Didi’s voice called out. “Now a core.”

There were dozens of beakers, corked and clearly labelled, with everything from phoenix feathers and white river monster spines to kneazle whispers and dittany stalks. Percy blinked at the beaker labelled “mothman feather” and another that was merely labelled “dementor essence”, allowing his fingers to brush over the slender glass tubes, seeking out the one he needed.

His fingers caught on a beaker that contained an Occamy feather and a brief pulse of magic ghosted up his arm. _Self-awareness_ , that thing deep within Percy spoke again as he collected the beaker and turned to Didi. 

“Hmm, beyond interesting, you’ve tipped into fascinating,” The goblin woman collected the supplies from Percy. “These are not the elements of a faithless traitor playing both sides.” She said as she arched a thin, tattooed eyebrow at Percy. “These are elements that speak of a wizard who knows himself.”

“I like to think I’ve had a lot of time to reflect,” Percy smiled at Didi. “Should I… Could I sit and watch you work?”

“I think your beau might have something to say about that,” Didi scoffed, and Percy jumped when he turned and saw Severus’ eyes on him, Mister Flitwick smiling at the two of them as he stroked his thin, scraggly beard. 

“Ah, apologies, Mister Flitwick,” Percy cleared his throat. “Your wife is an accomplished wandmaker and I… I’m just so fascinated-”

“Don’t worry yourself, young man,” The older man laughed. “And call me Daedalus.”

“Daedalus,” Percy smiled. “Shall I pay now or-”

“Take his money, Daedalus, or he might try stiffing us later,” Didi called, but Percy was practiced with translating the sardonic tone of his lover and couldn’t help but smile at the lack of bite from the goblin woman. “Be off with you two, I’ll have the wand ready in a couple of hours.”

Percy paid the two galleons to Daedalus and thanked both Flitwicks again, before he followed Severus into the Alley once more.

A light lunch, sandwiches and chilled peppermint tea, was quickly procured, and when they returned to the overcrowded streets of the Alley they found themselves caught in the wave of people trying to push into the new bookshop - Cracked And Spineless - which had replaced Flourish and Blotts. What they hadn’t expected was Rita Skeeter sitting behind a table, signing books and taking photographs. The two of them smirked as they picked up copies to look at, lurking about as they brushed up on the works.

“Rita Skeeter’s first work of fiction,” Severus drawled and Percy scoffed.

“You mean her previous works were non-fiction?”

“It would appear so,” Severus hummed as he flicked through more of the book. “Tasteless, cheap, telling not showing, certainly a Skeeter classic.”

“Well, if it isn’t Severus Snape and Percival Weasley!” Rita’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard as she approached them. 

“Severus, are we standing near an open trench?”

Severus gave an exaggerated sniff to the air, “Smells like desperation, Percy.”

Flashbulbs went off and Percy sneered as Rita tried to shake both of their hands, but to no avail. “No hard feelings about the book, of course, it was just getting the truth out to the readers.”

“You implied I had carnal relations with Voldemort,” Percy bit out. “Page 394: Percival Weasley followed Tom Riddle from residence to residence like an eager to please shadow. Multiple sources said that he was known to take to the bedroom of the Dark Lord at random hours of the night.”

“You accused me of grooming dozens of students into being sexual playthings,” Severus growled in turn. “And that my tenure as Headmaster was spent orchestrating a Death Eater human trafficking ring.”

“The people have a right to know and make their own decisions,” Rita said as solemnly as she could. 

Percy’s hand impacted with Rita’s face before anyone could stop, take a photo, or realize what had happened. “Oh _dear_ , Rita, darling,” Percy roughly righted the woman as her green satin-clad ass bumped into the edge of the table. “You really shouldn’t wear those shoes, they can be hazardous to your health.”

“You hit me!” Rita yelped.

“I broke your fall,” Percy said simply. “With the palm of my hand.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. 

“You’re a filthy liar, Percival!” She yelped, stomping her broken high heel on the ground. “The people have the right to know the truth!”

“The truth?” Severus’ voice was low, dangerous, as he glared at Rita. “Alright. Let me tell your adoring fans _the truth_.” He stepped forward and Rita reeled back, trying to put distance that was not there between them. “I wasted decades of my life keeping the likes of you blissfully ignorant of the Dark Lord’s machinations, plans, and horrifying misdeeds from beyond the grave. I dedicated my life to sabotaging his every plan while doing things that would make your teeth fall out if you knew about them.” Rita’s eyes were wide as Severus stood, nose inches from hers. “I do not need your gratitude, I do not need your acceptance, but what I would like is the common decency afforded to the average wizarding citizen and a right to not have talentless insects like yourself writing slanderous lies about me.”

Percy smirked as he rested his hand on Severus’ arm. “Come on, Severus, I don’t see anything here worth making a fuss over.”

Just like that, the man’s back straightened, his nose tilted into the air as he turned and offered his arm to Percy, who accepted it graciously as if his hand wasn’t still stinging from the force of impact with Rita Skeeter’s face. 

When they arrived at Flitwicks, Didi was cackling away at her workbench, grinning as her husband looked flustered. “So you smacked that Skeeter Bitch, ey?”

Percy flushed. “You saw that?”

“No, Daedalus went off to find you, _he_ saw that.” Didi smirked as she held out a wand box to Percy. “If you ever need any difficult to get elements, let me know, I’ll put in a good word with my suppliers.”

After some fussing Percy managed to get the box open, gasping at the sight of his new wand. It was beautifully carved, sleek and simple wih a handle carved with a series of delicate runes. 

“Theban?” Percy asked in quiet awe as he looked at the words. 

“A contract, between the wand and yourself,” Didi slid off of her stool and walked around the edge of the counter. “Down here, young man.” Percy knelt, staring at the wand in his hand, feeling the hum of magic against his palm and fingers. “Flitwick wands are not like Ollivander’s, especially custom ones like this, they are sealed to you, soul to soul, and if they find you unworthy, at any time, they will reject you.” Dark eyes fixed on Percy’s. “Think of what you will use this wand for, and offer yourself to the wand.”

Percy hesitated before he closed his eyes, trying to think of what he might use the wand for. Chores and mundane things. Potion making, perhaps, but that did not feel like the right answer. 

_I will protect my home, my love, my family, with this wand._

A sharp pain, brief but enough to make his eyes snap open, and then the wand hummed with Percy’s own power. He smiled and stood, waving the wand through the air. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

His bat fluttered from the tip of the wand, flapping its wings until it circled around Severus and disappeared into a fine white mist. Severus smiled back at him and in a moment the man had approached Percy, kissing him softly, fondly. 

“How does it feel?” Severus asked, his thumb stroking the curve of Percy’s cheek gently. 

“Like I’m home.”

* * *

Going to the Ministry of Magic was always an exercise in navigating dry and often contradictory bureaucracy. Percy was certain that if he hadn’t spent years learning the ins and outs and every bland, rabbit hole-esque memo format it would drive him to tearing his hair out. But he had long ago learned the method to the madness and the Ministry itself had stagnated the way it always seemed to even under Shacklebolt’s new regime. 

Which meant that the Office of Hanfasting and Marriage Certifications was still in the same dull wing miles underground. It was such an old fashioned thing to do, to come to the actual Ministry and be declared lawfully wedded in the eyes of the Ministry. Modern witches and wizards preferred to pay the fee to have an officiant come out and perform the handfasting there at the wedding, others still would ask a friend to become officiant and perform the ceremony for them. Dumbledore himself had been an officiant and had overseen the handfasting of Molly and Arthur as well as Tonks and Remus later on. 

There were sconces bearing blue flame every few feet in the enormous chamber, a four-pointed star tiled into the floor in gold among the smooth black marble. Keeping with tradition, Percy and Severus had both donned sleek, simple black robes and stood before the small, wizened old wizard with the nameplate on his desk declaring him to be Dorianis Bones. 

“Names?” The man asked with a dusty, wheezing voice, squinting up at the two men. 

“Percival Ignatius Weasley,” Percy said, grasping at Severus’ hand tightly, nervously, as he slid their paperwork over the desk to the officiant. 

“Severus Tobias Snape,” Severus intoned as he gave Percy’s own hand a firm squeeze. 

“Ah, yes, eleven o’clock, exactly,” Dorianis read over the paperwork before him then at the two wizards. “Wands, please.” The two of them held out their wands for identification and once they had passed the spell the wizen old man gave a nod and shuffled off of his chair and around the too-wide desk to stand between the two. “Have you prepared vows?”

“Yes,” Severus whispered, clearing his throat as he glanced at Percy then at Dorianis. 

“Well then, let us get started, shall we?” The man waved his hand and produced a long rope, braided from the traditional thirteen colorful ribbons, and began to bind it around Severus’ wrist. “We are gathered here today to unite two souls as one. Do you, Severus Tobias Snape and Percival Ignatius Weasley join us here of your own free will to acknowledge the eternal bond shared between you?”

Percy smiled up at Severus, grasping the man’s hand as his wrist was bound to Severus’ tightly. “In your hands I place my heart, at our table I shall bless you with plenty, in darkness I shall be your light, today I take you as mine own.”

Severus squeezed Percy’s fingers tightly as his own wrist was bound, letting out a soft breath before he spoke softly in turn. “On this night I take you as mine, with this binding you are made holy to me, according to the ancient magics and the faith of our ancestors.”

Dorianis nodded his head and clasped both of their hands in his own briefly. “Here before this witness, Severus Tobias Snape and Percival Ignatius Weasley have sworn their vows to each other. With this cord I bind them to these vows, heart to heart, love to love, magic to magic, and soul to soul.” There was a soft, glowing warmth between their hands and Percy’s breath stuttered as the binding turned a bright, vibrant red and then vanished, tingling within their very blood now. Percy looked up at Severus and smiled. “You may now kiss.”

Long, thin fingers cupped both sides of Percy’s face, drawing him close, and they shared the first kiss of their marriage.

* * *

Sleepy Hollow was a charming, picturesque little town, the main thoroughfare was packed with a variety of shops that gave way to weaving, uneven lines of charming Victorian style homes. Among the shops on the main road was a small real estate office and this is where Percy and Severus sat, chatting with the rather excitable woman named Katrine.

“So, what are you looking for?” She asked as she took a pen in hand. 

“Someplace with a basement or cellar,” Percy said immediately, before Severus could make a snide comment of “a house”. “Severus here practices holistic medicine and we plan on starting an apothecary business here.”

“Oh, you two will fit right in!” Katrine made note. “Anything else?”

“Something with an attic as well,” Severus’ low voice added. “Built in shelving?”

“We don’t mind a fixer upper,” Percy reassured the woman, smiling up at Severus. “We don’t mind some hard work.” And magic would make that hard work easier. “And a garden, a very big garden.”

Katrine’s eyes lit up as she frantically began going through her filing cabinet. “I might have just the place for you, it’s a little bit run down, but it’s in a beautiful location and it’s walking distance from town!”

3 Forest Ave was tucked at the intersection of several small dirt roads behind the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. It was old and decrepit, but the structure itself was sound. As Percy and Severus deftly avoided holes in the floor and rotting sections of wall, they couldn’t help but smile. Climbing to the attic Percy felt his heart pounding as he saw that the entire attic had once been a library, lined with endless bookshelves, some of which were falling apart, but were still there. The house was filled with stained glass windows that had been covered with boards and paper to preserve them, and when Percy peeled back the brown butcher paper from the window of the attic, he gasped at the beautiful gold and black arch of the lunar cycles set into deep blue glass.

“We’ll take it,” Severus said simply as he smiled at Percy, Katrine’s face lighting up as she pulled out her mobile phone, one of those new smart ones, and called someone. 

They had been in Sleepy Hollow for less than a day and by nightfall they had shook hands with the previous owner, and signed over the house to them. Half of their savings was gone, but with the promise of the other half going towards buying a shop over the course of the next week, Katrine insisting that she’d get a list to them the next day, the two happily made their way back to the house. It was dark by the time they arrived at their new home, and Percy smiled as he looked around the house’s foyer, drawing his wand from the holster at his wrist. 

“Let’s see…” He tapped the wand against his chin and smiled at Severus. “What should we do first?”

Severus smiled as he glanced around and then pointed his wand to the floors. “ _Reparo_.” The wooden floors crunched and splintered and then started to repair themselves, one board at a time, smoothing out into perfect condition as Severus paced slowly along the floor, directing his wand to each and every plank. In a moment the entire foyer was repaired and Percy laughed as he summoned Severus’ radio from his pocket and unshrunk it. He clicked the radio on and turned to the walls. 

“ _Proluo_ ,” And in moments the peeling, moldy wallpaper was removed to reveal the drywall beneath. “ _Scourgify_.”

They worked late into the small hours of the morning like that, and when it was well past midnight they sat on the floor of the room that they had decided would be the parlour, sipping at firewhiskey and eating sandwiches that they had packed before their portkey appointment that morning. Percy looked at Severus, who was absently picking the crust off of his sandwich, clearly making a list of things that needed to be done for the house.

“Hey,” Percy whispered, smiling when Severus looked over at him. He rolled onto his own knees and leaned forward, kissing Severus’ lips softly, slowly. 

They hadn’t even started to unpack and unshrink their belongings, they didn’t have the bed set up, but Percy didn’t care, not when Severus’ hands gripped at his waist and thighs and the back of his neck, moving and traveling eagerly over Percy’s body until Percy was straddling Severus’ waist, looking down at those perfect dark eyes and Severus’ long, sprawling black hair. Percy leaned forward until they were pressed, chest to chest, thigh to hip, his lips pulling soft, breathless noises from Severus’ throat with each kiss.

“Mister Prince.” Percy whispered, leaning forward to brush his nose against Severus’. “It’s still so strange, but so good, so much better than Mister Weasley.”

“My sweet Prince,” Severus growled into Percy’s lips, drawing him closer as if he wanted to devour the younger man. “My Husband.”

That elicited a strange moan from Percy that he couldn’t even begin to hold back, kissing and biting at Severus’ lips until the man rolled their bodies so that Percy was sprawled on the hardwood beneath him. “Say it again.” Percy gasped as he tugged at Severus’ long hair, tangling his fingers in the fine strands, tasting moly on Severus’ lips, familiar and clean and fresh. 

“You’re my husband now,” Severus whispered, smiling against Percy’s lips as he rucked up Percy’s jumper and stroked his fingers over the younger man’s chest. “My _perfect_ , intelligent, beautiful husband.” Long legs wrapped around Severus’ waist and Percy moaned into the other man’s mouth, shivering as crooked teeth bit a trail of soft kisses down his throat to the collar of his shirt. 

“Off,” Percy whispered, tugging at Severus’ own black shirt, fumbling the buttons before he simply grabbed his wand. “ _Segmentum_.” He watched the shirt slice open, his hands finding Severus’ bare chest eagerly. He kissed at the marks of protective runes burned into pale skin, licking at sweat and raised scars until his teeth dug into Severus’ skin right over his ribs. Thin fingers grasped at Percy’s hair, a low moan tearing itself from Severus’ throat as he balanced on one elbow and Percy shimmied down the floor, grinning up at the looming man over him. 

It didn’t take much to get Severus’ trousers open and when Percy took him into his mouth he savored the absolutely wrecked noise that the man made, yanking on Percy’s ginger curls in an attempt to get him to pull back. “Percy,” Severus growled as he bit his lower lip. “Fuck, Percy, get up here.”

A contemplative moan pulled from Percy’s throat and he let his grip on Severus’ thigh and hip loosen so that he could be practically hauled up the floor by Severus’ grip on his jumper and hair. The pain was good, it was so good, and Percy let himself be stripped, his jumper, shirt, trousers and underthings vanished until he was bare beneath Severus’ hungry, snarling mouth. He’d feel the marks bitten and kissed into his flesh for days and he was eager to see and feel the bruises forming as they worked, building their new life together.

Rediscovering all of the spells that had made these encounters easier, Percy gasped as he felt Severus finally - _finally_ \- sink into him. “O-oh, yes, yes, please,” He kissed the perfect cupid’s bow of Severus’ lips, biting at his lower lip roughly enough to draw blood. The pace was frantic, as if they might never have this moment again, and Percy couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, not with his eyes crossing and his limbs tightening around Severus’ lean frame. “Severus, please, please.” 

“This is real,” Severus whispered, his fingers gripping at Percy’s waist hard enough to bruise as he pressed his forehead to Percy’s own, sweat causing their hair to cling to their faces. Their breaths mingled, hot and damp against one another’s mouths, and when Percy shook and tensed and came Severus groaned and kissed him deeply once more. “I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

Percy drew Severus closer, kissing and biting softly at his lips. “I’m here.” He whispered reassuringly, feeling the way his husband thrust harder, deeper into him, a frantic pace that made Percy whimper softly. “I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

* * *

There was a small gaggle of children in front of the counter that Percy was carefully painting with a white base coat, “Are you a witch?”

Percy turned to face the children, wrapping his arms around his legs as he took them in, his paint brush dangling from his fingers and dripping paint on his worn work jeans. “What makes you ask that?”

“My grandma says that they always just show up randomly whenever you least expect it.” The little girl that had initially spoken squinted at Percy, taking him in. “You don’t wear the funny clothes like the other witches.”

Percy laughed and stood. “Well, I am not a witch, I am a wizard, and so is my husband.”

“But your names aren’t very magical,” A little boy frowned as well, looking up at Percy. “ _Prince_ isn’t a very witchy name.”

“Well that’s because it’s our married name,” Percy smiled. “Neither of us liked our last names, so we took Severus’ mother’s name, even though we don’t like his mother, we liked the name.”

“What are your real names?” One of the children chimed, and the others nodded along, demanding to know their real names. 

“Our real name is Prince,” Percy huffed. “Our old names aren’t our names now.”

“Children,” Severus’ low, stern voice called from the doorway of the shop, causing the gaggle of children to jump and turn, staring at him with wide eyes. He was dressed in his usual black, bearing a bag from Asado down the street, the smell of chicken wafting into the room. “Shouldn’t you all be in school?”

“It’s a Saturday,” One of the kids piped up and Percy snickered as he stood, stealing a soft kiss from Severus. The man smelled like potions ingredients and fire, warm and musky and perfect. He had spent most of the morning in the basement lab that they had set up months ago, brewing before he came to the main road to assist Percy in the endeavor of refurbishing the shop for their apothecary. It wouldn’t do for them to open the doors and have no product whatsoever on the shelves.

“Well then, what are you doing in here?” Severus asked, raising a brow. “The Apothecary isn’t opened yet.”

“Are you a witch?”

“Wizard, dummy, men are wizards!”

“No, he’s a witch, look at his nose!”

Severus sniffed, narrowing his eyes dangerously down at the children even as Percy smiled in amusement, picking at his chicken and chips as he watched the scene unfold. With a snap of his fingers, the paint brush that Percy had been using earlier started to work on its own, painting the counter, then the walls, careful not to drip paint on the floor as it worked. The children gawked at Severus, then clambered over to him, pawing eagerly. 

“Do more! Do more!”

This, clearly, had not been the intended consequence, as Severus looked at Percy with his usual blank expression that said he was surprised. “Oh no, you started it, you get to entertain them.”

The mop in the corner began to dance about the room, cleaning the wooden floors, the various shelves started to assemble themselves and a thin paintbrush began to write in the front window of the shop, declaring them to be _Prince Apothecary, Potioneers, and Predictions_. 

With a wave of his hand the various items stopped their magical activities and Severus looked sternly down at the children. “That’s enough for today, we have work to do.”

A chorus of disappointed noises rose up and Severus’ lips twitched. “But… For Samhain I’m sure the shop could do something extra special if you all behave yourselves.”

“When is Samhain?” One boy asked loudly.

“You’ll have to figure it out yourself,” Severus waved his hands at the gaggle of children, ushering them out. “Off to the library with you.”

Once the front door was locked again Percy smiled at his husband, drawing his wand to wave it at the radio they had set up in the corner. Severus smiled back when he heard the first few strains of a Carpenter’s song. 

“This is it, isn’t it?” Percy asked with a smile, looking up at his lover as Severus drew him close, the two of them turning gently in the middle of the shop. “What we’ve been working for?”

Severus nodded, kissing Percy’s lips gently, drawing him closer until they were clinging tightly to one another. “You’re sure that… That this is what you want?” _that I am what you want_ went unspoken, but Percy heard it anyway. 

“I want you,” Percy smiled as he kissed Severus’ lips gently, drawing the older man closer until their foreheads rested against one another. “The rest is just background. All I’ve ever wanted is you.”


	10. Pyrrhic: (adj.) (of a victory) won at too great a cost to have been worthwhile for the victor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ending where both Severus and Percy die.   
> For Alternate Endings reference these chapters:  
> Drapetomania: Both Severus and Percy live.  
> Hiraeth: Percy lives, Severus dies.  
> Anacampserote: Severus lives, Percy dies.

Harry stood in the Great Hall, listening to the sounds of grieving, of Madam Pomfrey directing her healing apprentices, of the Order trying to establish a plan of action. His knees felt weak as he walked among the others, Ginny alongside him as they levitated the two bodies. It had been a long trek from the Shrieking Shack, longer still with conflict still waged on the grounds, but for how ragged the robes of the two men had become, they were still whole, still in one piece. 

Lowering them onto a pair of blankets spread out on the ground, Harry watched as Percy’s hand flopped from where it had been laid across his chest, as if even in death the young man still wished to be close to Severus. Their heads were turned towards one another, each with one arm reaching for the other, and Harry knelt beside them, staring at Percy’s face with tears in his eyes. 

_It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore._

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black and silver scroll case, climbing up the stairs, uncertain of where his feet would lead him. He could hear Molly Weasley’s desperate cries turn louder as she saw Percy laid out on the ground, Ginny and Ron seeking comfort from their mother. When Harry turned to look at the Weasleys, though, none touched Percy with the reverence and desperation that they had given to Fred.

_I got a new one. I don’t need anything that’s in that one, but you could probably use some of the things in there at school._

There were dozens more dead, but Harry thought about what both Severus Snape and Percy Weasley had risked for him, for Dumbledore, for the cause, and one another. He thought of Percy’s face and how wane he had looked in the years that Harry had known him, ever since the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and Harry had found Percy, crumpled and unconscious on the cold stone floor.

_Life isn’t like homework, Hermione. You can’t just write a report on it and turn it in and get feedback._

Harry pulled out the small notebook he had kept, and inside, glued to a page with a sticking charm, was the note in Percy’s handwriting, _Sometimes they are alive._ He stood before the Headmaster’s office and within the scroll case were two notes, just as small as the first.

 _Both must die._ in Percy’s handwriting and _Zugzwang_ in Severus Snape’s.

He stood before the gargoyle and stared at the blank stone gaze before he whispered. “Zugzwang.” The gargoyle moved, spiraling and revealing the staircase, leading Harry to the Headmaster’s quarters.

 _You’re so used to having everything handed to you, did you think it was all _fate_? Did you think that it was_ free will? _Dumbledore was pulling your strings, he still is even from beyond the grave. Your little suicide mission proves that. Well now you’re on your own and no one is coming to save you._

The quarters were different than when Dumbledore had occupied them. They were austere, with dark texts held within cabinets. The moment Harry stepped foot within the cabinet that held the pensieve opened, revealing the smooth, shallow basin. He collected the vial that Hermione had given him to take the memories dripping from Percy and Snape’s eyes, mingled together in the single vial, inseparable even in death.

_That’s the thing, isn’t it? You hesitate to sacrifice those that mean the most to you. But that’s the name of this game. Sacrifice. And believe me, Harry Potter, it’s a game that’s designed to hurt._

A shaking hand poured the memories within and the silver liquid turned to familiar black ink within the pensieve.

_No, My Lord, that isn’t true. It’s simply not true._

Harry thought of Percy’s desperate, terrified eyes, thought of Severus’ pallid face drawn tight in fear, fear not for himself but for Percy, alone, at the mercy of the Dark Lord. 

He thought of Percy’s last words.

_I’m sorry._

* * *

Grimmauld Place looked so different now that the weight of secrecy, of “headquarters” was lifted. Harry and Ginny had moved in together at Grimmauld Place. It had been a spur of the moment decision, neither of them could sleep alone and Ron and Hermione had gotten their own apartment after completing their Hogwarts educations. Ginny and Harry had purchased an enormous tree to decorate for Yule, it was so big that they had used shrinking charms to get it into the house. It was festooned with popcorn and old Yuletide ornaments and decorations that Kreacher had happily dug up for them, explaining the importance and history of each one. Harry had even allowed Kreacher the honor of hanging one that had Regulus Black’s initials on it, close to the base of the tree so that Kreacher could see it every day. 

“I don’t know why you are so insistent, Harry dear, but here it is.” Molly held out Percy’s bag. It had been stuck in probate court for so long that Harry had almost thought that it had been destroyed along with the contents. “It just has some books and things in it.”

“Thank you, Missus Weasley,” Harry hugged her tightly, smiling as he placed the bag aside. “And the photographs?”

“Oh, dear, I haven’t been able to find them, but they’re probably somewhere.” Molly smiled at him. “But don’t you worry about it, it’s Yuletide and we’re going to celebrate as a - a family.” Her voice cracked on the last word and Harry thought of Fred and Percy, buried in the family plot in Ottery St. Catchpole. He had visited the graves. While Fred’s was festooned with flowers and ornaments and decorations, Percy’s had a simple wreath of white lilies and green ivy laid upon the ground.

Harry guided Molly into the kitchen where the other Weasleys were already making themselves comfortable along with Neville and his grandmother, Hermione and her parents (their memories restored with minimal issues), and Luna and Xenophilius. It was warmth and merriment and joy, interrupted as they all silently thanked the Green God and Triple Goddess for those who had survived the year, and asked for intercession for those who had passed. 

They shared endless stories of Fred’s high jinks and jokes and what a fun boy he was, even before Hogwarts. When time came to speak of Percy, though, the Weasleys murmured only words about how brave he had been and toasted him without any stories to be told.

After everyone had either gone home or occupied one of the dozens of guest rooms in the house Harry sat in the parlour, before the fir tree, enchanted by Kreacher to stay fresh and smell as if it had just been dragged in from the snow, and opened Percy’s bag. 

He found a beautiful purple tasseomancy teaset, a tarot card deck in a leather case, books on a variety of subjects, a beautiful muggle pen enchanted to remain always full of ink, and a stack of several diaries. 

They were filled with a variety of things, mundane and simple or important to Percy’s job, but it wasn’t those things that Harry searched for. He found in the pages of one a photograph of Snape from his younger years, ripped from a Daily Prophet article about the man’s trial. Mirroring that page was a photograph of Headmaster Snape from the announcement of his succession of Dumbledore. There was a clear path, worn by Percy’s fingers, over the side of the face of the photograph, down the image’s chest, fading the ink oddly as Severus Snape looked out of the image at the viewer. 

There were notes on Horcruxes in older ones, there was speculation about the horcruxes, of Nagini and the Gaunt Ring. He wrote about the night where Arthur Weasley was hurt, tears staining the page as he apologized to the pages, over and over again. He wrote about Cornelius Fudge, Rufus Scrimgeour, Pius Thicknesse. He wrote about Dolores Umbridge and how she was a nightmare of a woman but a valuable resource to know what was going on at Hogwarts, how Ron and Ginny were faring. He wrote about Mafalda Hopkirk and how she was such a good woman, better than the Ministry deserved, and how Percy hoped that she would survive the coming hostile takeover. He wrote about living with Voldemort, the terror and fear he felt. He wrote about Lucius Malfoy and the disgust he felt as he let the man use him, how he felt for Narcissa who was trapped in a situation beyond her own control, her son sacrificed like a lamb on an altar. 

_I know that I am destined to die. I have given Ron my bag containing the enchanted scroll case, Secrets of the Darkest Arts, and I have, beyond all understanding, drawn the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat to give to Harry Potter. I hope that whoever finds this journal knows and understands that I did what I had to do to save my family, the ones that I love._

_Should the one who finds this journal be Severus Snape: Know that I have never loved as fully and completely until I met you, that I will never love another as I have loved you. If I have died before you, I will wait in whatever vast beyond for us to be reunited for our love will last until the stars turn cold._

* * *

Harry dug through the box of photographs that Molly Weasley had given him, rescued from the attic. There were no pictures of just Percy in the entire box it seemed. He was always flanked by his siblings, and short of his school photograph there was nothing else to show he had even existed outside of his relationships with his siblings. Going to Minerva one day, Harry waited until she was summoned away from their afternoon tea by urgent Hogwarts business before he stepped towards the portrait of Severus Snape, who was reading a book in his portrait.

“What’s in the book?”

“The book is a prop,” Snape held up the book and showed that while the pages turned, there was nothing on them. “Speak up, Potter, I don’t have time for your inane prattling.”

“Do you have any pictures of Percy?” Harry asked curiously.

The portrait stiffened and then glared at him. “If I did then why would I give them to you, _Potter_? For you to let Rita Skeeter slander his name even more than she already has?”

“No, I’m making a portrait of him,” Harry stared at Snape, as open as he possibly could. “You were both instrumental in the war, in me even being able to destroy the horcruxes. Without his book, his scroll case, we wouldn’t have been able to win.”

Those fathomless dark eyes that had always scared Harry stared back at him. “There is a false bottom in the Headmistress’ top left desk drawer, tap your wand upon it and say _Tacenda_.”

Harry moved quickly to the desk, pulling the drawer free and removing the papers Minerva stored in it. When the false bottom sprung open there were endless numbers of letters from Percy to Severus, bundled together in tight twine, and photographs, sketches, all of them muggle, all of them frozen in place, but all of them taken in quiet, intimate moments where Percy clearly didn’t know he had been photographed. 

All except for one. 

There was a fireplace in what Harry recognized as Spinner’s End’s sitting room and Percy was sitting at Severus’ feet, his head resting upon the darkly clad knee of the older man, his glasses sliding down his nose as he happily smiled up at Snape, his lips in the process of forming a word as he reached for the camera. 

“I had an old polaroid that I confiscated from a student,” Snape explained softly. “Years ago. I found it again and… I knew there was no future for us. The best we could hope for was a swift death.” Snape stared sadly down at the photographs. “People truly die when no one tells their stories. Portraits can only be properly made when someone living can tell the artist the stories.” 

Harry stared at Severus Snape and saw a man who was so painfully, deeply alone, even in death. He remembered speaking to the artist about Snape, Minerva and Draco must have also spoken about the man. 

But who would tell Percy’s stories? No one knew what he had done other than Harry and Snape and their lives had never been intertwined as fully as Snape as Percy had been.

“Do you know his stories?”

“I am a portrait, Harry,” Snape whispered. “I do not know his stories, only the memories you were shown, and only that I loved him beyond life itself.”

* * *

Rita Skeeter’s tell-all biography of Severus Snape was exactly as Harry had expected. On the ink black cover, framed with lurid green writing declaring _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?_ was a black and white photograph of a scowling Professor Snape. Inside it was garbage of the same caliber as _The Life And Lies Of Albus Dumbledore_. Slanderous in many sections, and practically fictional in others. 

It detailed the sad, miserable life of an angry, resentful child, raised by an equally angry father and resentful mother into a monstrously cruel man. It, thankfully, made no mention of Lily Potter in any capacity beyond their Hogwarts years, and Harry wondered what Severus would think of her name being mentioned in Rita Skeeter’s garbage at all.

Three quarters of the way through the book Harry froze when he noticed an entire four chapter section dedicated to Percival Ignatius Weasley and when Harry gets to the first page of that section he is struck by sudden nausea at the photograph used. There, for millions of witches and wizards to see, detailed in full color, were the dead bodies of Severus and Percy, clutching at one another in rigor mortis, their eyes not even closed. It was a violation of the highest caliber that made Harry’s hands tremble as he threatened to tear the book to pieces. 

_Percival Weasley was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1987 to 1994. Little is known about Mister Weasley prior to his employment at the Ministry of Magic other than that he was a quiet, sullen boy and a rule follower of the highest caliber. He graduated in 1994 with his peers, top of his class despite an apparently lackluster ability regarding spellcasting and potions. He was an unremarkable boy only made remarkable by his ability to pass a test._

_Or so it seems._

_After his rather sudden hiring by Bartemius Crouch Senior Percy Weasley was quickly whisked into politics of a much darker and more sinister nature. Dolores Umbridge, ex-Ministry employee and temporary Headmistress of Hogwarts in 1996, said that he was a rather power hungry little creature, and while his relationship with Severus Snape was previously unknown and unspoken of, until one source, who preferred to remain anonymous, broke their silence for the purposes of this very book._

Harry flicked to the next page and saw a picture of Percy Weasley, smoking a cigarette outside of a Ministry building, looking exhausted and pale. 

_-Percy Weasley was merely a boy of sixteen when he became sexually involved with Severus Snape. During this torrid affair he was gifted a sinister artifact by his much older lover: The Diary of Tom Riddle, now known to be a Horcrux created during the Dark Lord’s school years. Using this Diary in a bid to resurrect the Dark Lord, it was revealed that Percy Weasley was unable to resist the Imperius curse, a fact that was later brought up in his hearing regarding his involvement in the death of Bartemius Crouch Senior. During this year of secret passion-_

Harry flicked until there was another page with a photograph. This one was of Percy at a press conference following Minister Scrimgeour’s declaration of the Ministry’s strength. No words could be heard, but Percy’s lips moved as he spoke to the crowds. 

_-clearly Severus Snape’s influence, among other things, rubbed off on Percy Weasley when he used a poison to murder Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour following the press conference pictured above. Such a cruel, involved seduction had turned the infatuated young man into a slave to the whims of then-Headmaster Snape._

“It’s rubbish, all of it,” Ginny’s voice hissed and Harry closed the book quickly, looking over his shoulder at her. “She should be ashamed of the lies she tells.”

Harry looked down at the book, at Severus Snape’s scowling face, and frowned. “Someone should make the truth known. They were… They were good people. They made bad decisions, but they risked so much… For all of us.”

A tear tracked down Ginny’s cheek, catching on the scar that Percy had given her all those years ago. Harry hadn’t seen that memory, but he wondered if Percy had cried after he had raised his wand to his sister the same way tears had leaked from his eyes when he had seen her as he lay dying.

“I think… I think I know how,” He whispered, frowning at the cover of the book.

* * *

Albus Severus Potter tip-toed down the hallway, his fingers laced tightly with Scorpius Malfoy’s own pale fingers. “It’s this way!” He hissed, tugging Scorpius as the boy frowned and dug his heels in.

“That’s a girl’s lavatory,” Scorpius made a face at Albus. “Al, is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Oh shut up, you jackass, let me show you! It’s really cool!” Albus managed to haul Scorpius into the lavatory, searching for the proper sink. He turned the taps until he found one that didn’t work at all, staring at the mirror for a long moment. “ _Tacenda_.”

The sink lowered into the ground, grinding stone against stone, until it revealed a spiraling staircase leading into the bowels of the school. Scorpius squeezed at Albus’ fingers as they looked down, Albus hesitating before he rummaged through his pockets. He found a knut and dropped it down the stairs. It rattled and rolled and clinked and fell and the sound became more and more distant but didn’t stop.

“How deep does it go?” Scorpius asked, curiously peering down into the darkness beyond the grey stone steps. 

“I don’t know,” Albus squeezed Scorpius’ fingers back.

“Let’s find out!”

The two of them descended the steps slowly, carefully, until they realized that the steps wouldn’t allow them to slip or fall, not the way the staircases in the rest of the castle would move to abandon or drop students at random. They raced down the steps at a breakneck speed, their laughter filling the stairwell as they sometimes paused to shout up towards the top, wondering if anyone could hear them at all. 

When they came to a great circular doorway that mimicked the sewage and water pipes that surrounded them, they froze, cautiously peering into the new room. 

“Is this… It’s the Chamber of Secrets!” Scorpius hissed excitedly as he dragged Albus deeper into the chamber. “Look, look, it’s Salazar Slytherin!” The enormous carved head of the man had a long beard and serpentine hair flowing and coiling away from his face. “Oh my god, Albus, how did you find out that was the password? The location?”

Albus flushed and cleared his throat. “I, um… I asked Headmaster Snape’s portrait a question.” He didn’t tell Scorpius that he had asked both of his namesakes about love, about how they could live with loves that were so secret that no one knew about them. Albus Dumbledore had hemmed and hawed and gave rather cryptic non-answers. Severus Snape had smiled and waited until his neighbour had dozed off before he leaned forward and whispered.

_“Some things are better left unsaid, some things are better to be seen yourself.”_

It had taken a few more times, a few more conversations, before Snape had told him about an old Slytherin myth and how the boy could find it. 

Albus looked at the chamber before he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” Scorpius looked at him like he might have grown a second head. 

“The portrait said there was something important here,” Albus turned to fully face Salazar Slytherin, cupping his hands around his mouth. “ _Tacenda_!”

The mouth of the great death mask opened, revealing an entrance to a second chamber, a pale, ethereal glow spilling past grey stone lips. The two boys hesitated only for a moment before Scorpius grasped at Albus’ hand and dragged him forward, foolish and braver than any Gryffindor could have hoped to be.

The chamber was small, dominated by a pair of statues carved in black, green, red, and white stones, pieced together to make a quiet tableaux. The two figures rested on a table that was no taller than hip height, their bodies sprawled supine on the surface, as if they were asleep. One figure was dressed in masterfully carved green robes, the folds and embroidery details so realistic that Albus was sure if he touched cold stone he’d feel warm wool instead. The other figure was dressed in red robes, the fabric spilling over the edge of the table like pooled blood, the color matching the short red curls of the man’s hair, the horn-rimmed glasses that rested on the young man’s face seeming to interrupt his hair as naturally as if it was freshly washed and feathery soft. 

The faces of the two figures were turned towards one another and each one had a hand laced with the other, their heads resting on the edge of a small, circular basin. They looked so sad, the lines of their faces speaking of grief and worry and fear beyond what Albus could comprehend. There were tear tracks carved into their faces, faint lines of pure silver following the trails in marble skin, as if those silver tears were dripping into the basin itself.

“A penseive,” Scorpius traced his fingers through the water of the basin, glittering silver memories dripping from his fingers before he looked at Albus. “Want to look?”

They were silent for a few long moments before Albus nodded and the both of them leaned into the penseive to view the memory.

It was a rush of disjointed memories, each one swirling and blending into the next, but they were all memories of love. Intimate moments caught like butterflies in a field, showing Severus Snape staring down at Percy Weasley, sharing a rare smile with the younger man. The two of them laying in bed, covered by clean white sheets and whispering sweet nothings. Dancing together in a dingy yellow kitchen to the tune of some old song that Albus couldn’t name but recognized instinctively. Silent evenings in the Dungeons, Percy observing Severus discretely, not realizing the man was doing the same to him for all those quiet moments. Tears, so much pain, but love all the same, treated with such care and reverence it was breathtaking to see it.

“No one can ever know,” Severus Snape whispered as he looked down at Percy, stroking his fingers over a soft cheek, Percy’s head tilted into his palm as those adoring green eyes stared up at him.

“Nobody needs to know,” Percy agreed, reaching up to tangle in dark hair. “This is only for us.”

The memories ended and Albus and Scorpius pulled out of the penseive, looking at the water, their fingers still clutched together as they stared at the two statues, still looking as if they were merely sleeping, like they might wake at any moment. Albus avoided Scorpius’ eyes, instead staring at the black stone of Severus Snape’s hair, spilling over the edge of the table in finely carved wisps. 

“This… This chamber is a secret,” Albus looked at Scorpius and swallowed. “Nothing… Nothing said here could ever be heard by anyone else… It’s why they’re down here.”

Their lips were so close that when Scorpius spoke, it was words that Albus felt more than heard. “Kiss me, Albus.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


	11. Anacampserote: (n.) something that can bring back a lost love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus Snape and the Resurrection Stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ending where Severus lives and Percy dies.   
> For Alternate Endings reference these chapters:  
> Drapetomania: Both Severus and Percy live.  
> Pyrrhic: Both Severus and Percy die.  
> Hiraeth: Percy lives, Severus dies.

This ceiling was not the Hogwarts Infirmary. Severus stared up at the institution green and frowned as he tried to find the name he was searching for. Everything felt hazy and distant. 

St. Mungo’s. He was in St. Mungo’s.

His hand twitched upon the bedding and he let out a breathy noise that could hardly be considered the scream that he had been trying for.

“Ah, Healer Sparkes, his eyes are open again,” A familiar, and dreaded, voice called out and Severus heard footsteps approaching. 

“Probably a reaction again just like last week, but let’s run a diagnostic,” The healer’s magic tingled and Severus groaned, louder this time, and shuddered at the feeling. “Ah! Mister Potter, please get healer Dungenesse from the hall, it appears Mister Snape has finally woken up.” A woman’s face loomed over his, her dark hair streaked with grey and curled about her face charmingly. “Hello, Mister Snape, I’m Healer Sparkes, we’re just going to get you released from all of your stasis spells.”

Severus groaned, trying to form words. 

“You won’t be able to speak for now, you’ve been placed under a spell that keeps your airway open, you sustained some very heavy damage in the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

LeFay’s Tits, they named it already. Or he had been under for much longer than he thought. Severus didn’t have time to muse on that for long, Potter was returning with a woman who must have been Healer Dungenesse. 

“Ah, Mister Snape, ready to rejoin the living?” The woman asked, drawing her wand and murmuring a few releasing spells. “Deep breath for me.”

Severus inhaled deeply, nearly choking on his own tongue before he started coughing and rolled onto his side, retching and heaving as his stomach rebelled at the feeling of being released from stasis. Thankfully he didn’t have any food in his system so all that came up was the burn of bile in the back of his throat and nose. He swallowed, sniffed, and gave a couple more clearing coughs before he spoke.

“Percy.”

The healers that had been fussing over him hesitated, and Potter gave Severus a pained look. “I don’t think that’s-”

“Potter, you will show me Percy right now or so help me I will make whatever remains of your life a living hell.” Severus snarled, straightening as best as he could. His legs nearly gave out when he swung them over the edge of the bed, his slick compression socks scrambling gracelessly on the floor. “Where are my _clothes_!” He demanded, glaring at the healers. “My belongings?”

Potter took mercy on him, transfiguring the hospital robes into a simple black shirt and trousers, a skill he must have picked up during his year on the run. Severus stumbled and when Potter reached out he smacked the younger man’s hand away. “Professor, you’re not well en-”

“I am quite well and I am not your professor anymore,” Severus growled. “Now where is Percival Weasley?”

He expected to be led to another room, to be taken through the halls to a less serious ward of St. Mungo’s. Instead he was led to the bowels of the hospital, deeper and deeper until he felt dread clench his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe. 

They stood outside a door marked with only _Morgue_ in harsh block letters above it.

“He’s in there,” Potter whispered. “I’ve gotten permission for you to view the body, but I don’t know how long before the Healers get the Aurors here for you.”

Severus didn’t care, and did not listen, as he stepped through the door and searched for a familiar red head. The bodies held in glass stasis chambers were listed alphabetically, a morbid filing system. Some of the names were familiar (Brown, Lavender), there were others that were not (Tarsinius, Greg), and when Severus came to Weasley, Fred and Weasley, Percival he froze. Fred’s nameplate remained, but his body had already been claimed, while Percy’s remained behind. A generous little voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Lily, told him it was because Potter wanted him to see Percy one last time before he was buried, a less generous voice that he recognized as his own said that the Weasleys had forsaken one dead son in favor of the other.

Percy had always been beautiful. His skin was paler than before, his freckles faded from so long without time in the sunlight, trapped in Voldemort’s shadows. His ginger curls were cleaned and had dried in a way that Severus knew he hated, the unruliness that made him look windswept and so very charming when he laughed and smiled at Severus. His glasses were missing and when Severus glanced down at the tray beside the body he saw a box labeled “Personal Effects”. They were probably in there. He’d collect them before the body was released. Severus reached out, resting his hand upon the glass and staring at Percy’s still face. His eyes were closed, his lips curved into a soft, barely-there smile, as if he was having a particularly good dream. His hair and skin had been cleaned of blood and dirt and while there were scratches on his face and body, the wound that had killed him was not visible.

He looked like something from a muggle fairy tale he had read in primary school. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, some unfortunately cursed creature that could only be woken by True Love’s Kiss. 

But Percy was dead, and despite his proclamations of his misspent youth, Severus was not a Prince.

* * *

“You are Severus Tobias Snape, of 14 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, correct?”

“It would appear so,” Severus had never liked Kingsley Shacklebolt and his self-righteousness and fawning adoration of Albus Dumbledore. However, he was glad that Shacklebolt, with his rigid moral compass, stood trial over him rather than Pius Thicknesse, who would order his death out of spite for his betrayal. Severus flinched as a flashbulb went off right beside his face, glaring at the photographer that was raising the camera for another quick snapshot. The entire event was a spectacle, with reporters, witnesses, and the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix standing to observe his trial

Or what was left of the Order. He could see Molly and Arthur at the front row, and scowled at them, his fists clenching tightly against his thighs as he forced his eyes away from the Weasleys, short two ginger heads. St. Mungo’s couldn’t hold Percy’s body indefinitely, no matter what Harry Potter himself had asked as a favor, and today it was to be buried. Potter had shared with him the details in the days leading up to it, but Severus had only made one request of the young man: Don’t order lilies.

“You stand before the Wizengamot today accused of the willful and premeditated murders of Albus Dumbledore, Charity Burbage, and countless others, as well as the practice of Dark Arts in the service of Lord Voldemort.” Shacklebolt looked down at Severus with a frown. “How do you plead?”

Severus merely said, “I plead guilty.” He stared up at the man, his voice rising to be heard over the ripple of murmurs and shouts of the gathered crowd. He could hear nothing more distinct than the beating of his own heart. Surprising, that. He had thought he no longer had a heart after Lily’s death, and now he wondered how it could keep beating on after Percy’s death.

“Order in the court!” Shacklebolt barked, pounding his gavel. 

“Witness for the Defense!” A familiar voice called and Severus closed his eyes to keep from rolling them so hard he strained something. “Harry James Potter.”

“Mister Potter, what do you bring before the court?”

“I bring this,” Potter held up a vial of memories, _Severus’_ memories if the way they called out to him was any indication. “These memories were gathered from Severus Snape and Percival Weasley as they both lay dying in the Shrieking Shack.” Potter explained as he placed the vial before Shacklebolt. “I believe these to be the absolute truth of the matter of Severus Snape’s innocence and how his actions were not only sanctioned by Albus Dumbledore, but integral for the end of the war.” Potter gestured towards Severus. “Might I show these to the Wizengamot?”

“You may, Mister Potter, but may Master Snape please be advised that as you are not true legal representation that he is not required to answer any of your subsequent questions,” Shacklebolt looked at Severus and frowned. 

“If I must be subjected to this, may I state for the record that those memories are private and not meant to be paraded about in Court like some muggle soap opera,” Severus hissed, glaring at Potter. 

“These memories are evidence, properly entered within the court, I think you will find,” Potter gestured and Shacklebolt flicked through Severus’ file, glaring down at a note that must have stated that this was the truth.

“Very well.”

A pensieve was produced and Severus watched as it was charmed to show the memories to the whole court.

Lily. Lily speaking to him. Friendship, warmth. Lily asking Severus to be Harry’s godfather, even after their fight, even after his poor decisions, after he had begged for her forgiveness. Lily dead in his arms before he gathered little Harry into his arms, shushing the screaming little monster. A duel with Sirius Black, shouting, and then Severus handing Harry to Hagrid, ordering him to take the baby to Dumbledore while he dealt with Black’s betrayal. 

Albus. Albus giving him a job, giving him purpose, giving him orders. He followed all of them, always, always because of Lily, because of Harry. Albus with that damn cursed ring, the Resurrection Stone that had tempted even the wise and powerful Dumbledore to folly. The ring tucked into the snitch, the Elder Wand buried with Dumbledore and Voldemort’s vicious demands to know where it was. Dumbledore’s hunt for the horcruxes, his willingness to sacrifice Harry Potter like a pig for slaughter.

Harry. Harry coming to Hogwarts and he was every bit James’ son but those eyes were all Lily. Foolish and brave and so much like Lily in his kindness and loyalty and Severus couldn’t like him, couldn’t be close to the boy, he had to push him away, he had to, or else they were both dead.

Percy.

“No!” Severus choked as he saw Percy’s face smiling up at him, laughing, crying, sobbing, sprawled on Severus’ bed in Spinner’s End like a vision. “No, stop it!”

Percy and Severus after Dumbledore’s death, Dumbledore’s orders to kill him. Percy, pale and scared and asking what to do. The two of them drawing the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat then delivering it to Potter. 

A mongoose and a bat chasing one another through darkness. 

“I said _stop_!” Severus’ voice cut through the air and the charm was ended as Percy threw himself in front of Severus, taking Nagini’s vicious bite into his back, his green green eyes, like Lily’s eyes but different, stared up at Severus.

A horrible shrieking sob sounded through the courtroom, and Severus wondered what wretched creature was making that noise before he realized that it was him. 

The sound wracked his body as he mourned the loss of his second love for the first time, falling to pieces in the courtroom as everything fell silent around him. There would be pictures, articles, but he didn’t care, not when his chest ached so painfully.

“Please, stop, stop, no more, I don’t want to do this anymore,” He choked out, his head splitting with pain as he leaned against the bars of his cage. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Albus, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

* * *

The Wizengamot deliberated Severus’ case for a week. 

On the seventh day he was summoned to the courtroom. He was still bound by the hanging ropes, still held in his cage, standing before the court wane and so very tired. He didn’t even care about Rita Skeeter sitting so close he could see the flicker of her acid green Quick Quotes Quill.

“Severus Tobias Snape, you have stood trial for a multitude of crimes, each one horrific in their effects and devastation that they have wrought than the last.” Shacklebolt stared down at Severus. “But these crimes were proven to be sanctioned by Albus Dumbledore in a time of great turmoil and uncertainty within our nation. As such, you are hereby exonerated in the eyes of the Wizengamot.”

Silence and then a riot. Some people demanding a sentence to Azkaban, some that he be stripped of his magic, and still others shouting for the Dementor’s Kiss, only to be silenced by Shacklebolt’s gavel pounding on the podium for order.

“We have reviewed the evidence, as well as your own memories, which we believe to be the whole truth of the matter. We the Wizengamot find you innocent of all crimes committed while in service of Albus Dumbledore.” Shacklebolt waved his hand and Percy hung his head as he sobbed softly. “The case of Wizarding Britain v. Severus Tobias Snape is hereby closed and matter of record.”

* * *

The woman who handed Severus both his personal effects and Percy’s was a twitchy, jumpy woman who wore purple robes and had introduced herself as Mafalda Hopkirk. She had offered her condolences on his loss and Severus had frowned. 

“Percy was a friend of mine,” Mafalda whispered, staring at him with a meek smile. “He was a good man. I sent flowers to his funeral.”

“Not lilies, I hope,” Severus murmured and the woman shook her head.

“He liked moly. He always chewed little sprigs of it when he couldn’t get a smoke in.” It was beyond pathetic to break at that, but he did, his face twitching, drawing tightly, tears leaking from his eyes before he could wipe them away. “O-oh, Master Snape, oh dear, I’m so sorry, oh…” She gently led Severus to sit on a very plush, comfortable purple sofa and tried to take Percy’s bag from him, only for Severus to clutch it tightly, burying his nose in the leather that smelled like Percy’s laundry soap, ink, and his skin. “Here, here, have a cuppa, there we go.” Mafalda gently placed the teacup and saucer into Severus’ shaking hand. “Drink up, Master Snape, there we go, there.”

The tea was peppermint and it was unsweetened and he appreciated it as he let the saucer fall and held the delicate teacup emblazoned with the emblem of the Ministry of Magic on it. “Thank you, Miss Hopkirk.”

“Mafalda is fine, Master Snape,” The woman smiled gently. “And if… If you ever wish to have tea again, to talk about Percy, my floo redirects to my home if I’m not in.”

“Thank you, Mafalda,” Severus whispered weakly. “I’m sorry, I’ll not impose on your hospitality any longer.”

“Should I have someone floo you to Spinner’s End?”

“No,” Severus stood, still holding Percy’s bag tightly to his chest. “I would much rather go alone.”

Mafalda looked a bit worried, but she merely nodded and let Severus be on his way with his wand in its sheath and a couple of biscuits pressed into his hands. He felt a bit undignified, wandering through the Ministry, holding Percy’s bag clutched to his chest, his free hand holding two biscuits, but his thunderous scowl managed to convince most others away from him as he made his way to the main floos. 

“14 Spinner’s End.” He barked, and in moments he was in his own sitting room, dusting ash off of himself and Percy’s bag, the two biscuits eaten up in the flames of the floo. 

Everything was just as he had left it at the end of the summer and Severus felt his heart pounding as he climbed the stairs to his parents’ old bedroom, now his own, quickly. His knees ached as he climbed the stairs two at a time and when he threw the door open he didn’t spare a thought for the dry wall that no doubt was damaged by the door knob. He carefully placed Percy’s bag on the bed and turned towards the dresser. 

Severus’ own robes were hung in the closet, undisturbed and perfectly laundered, but Percy’s clothing was made mostly of knit jumpers and starched shirts. There, folded neatly in the dresser, Severus saw Percy’s burgundy sweater with the golden “P” knitted into it. The cuff of the sleeve was ruined from Percy picking at it nervously, but Severus merely lifted the thick wool to his face, burying his nose in it and breathing deeply as he sank to his knees on the floor. 

Tears leaked from his eyes as Severus breathed in the scent of Percy, familiar and clean and fresh. He could even smell a hint of the clove cigarettes that Percy smoked, a nasty habit he had picked up from Lucius Malfoy that Severus would never admit he found alluring when Percy’s lips parted to release a thin stream of smoke. Severus hugged the bulky sweater close, his breaths ragged and uneven as he rocked back and forth on the floor, choking back any sounds that threatened to bubble forth from his lips. 

He didn’t sleep in the bedroom that night. Instead he sat in his chair in the sitting room, bottle of whiskey in hand as he stared at the wall and listened to the muggle radio playing a selection of “golden oldies”. 

When the opening strains of _Yesterday Once More_ began to play and Karen Carpenter’s voice sounded he clenched his jaw so tightly he worried his crooked teeth might shatter.

_When I was young I'd listen to the radio… Waitin' for my favorite songs… When they played I'd sing along… It made me smi-_

Severus flicked his wand and turned off the radio, bathing his sitting room in silence as he took another deep swig from the bottle of firewhiskey, running his free hand over the warm knit sweater in his lap. 

He should go through Percy’s things. There were so few of them he might as well. Before Minerva hunted him down and demanded his return to Hogwarts.

Climbing the stairs once more Severus sat on the edge of the master bed, breathing deeply as he looked down at the bag beside him. He placed the bottle of firewhiskey on the nightstand and traced one finger carefully over the embossed leather. P.I.W. Percy Ignatius Weasley. 

Inside was a purple tasseomancy teaset and when Severus opened the sugar bowl there was an inscription inked in black on the inside of the lid. 

_Batty, always look ahead, never back. Prof. Veil_

Severus placed the set on the bed carefully. He remembered Percy’s sobs over Bathilda Bagshot and what he had been ordered to do by the Dark Lord. He also remembered how Percy obsessively tended to this teaset, the least he could do to care for the last bit of Bathilda Bagshot.

Lucius Malfoy’s silver cigarette case, engraved with the Malfoy crest and still bearing several clove cigarettes. Severus opened the case and breathed in the scent, taking one of the cigarettes and lighting it. The drag was smooth and warm and unfamiliar, but it smelled of Percy and Severus held the breath as long as he could before breathing out. He had asked Percy several times what the boy felt for Lucius, jealousy poisoning his veins as he thought of the handsome blonde man touching Percy, dragging his greedy hands over the younger man’s thin, pale flanks. Percy had always denied any emotion towards the man, other than disgust and the barest ounces of tolerance.

Rufus Scrimgeour’s cut crystal ash tray, with the seal of the Ministry of Magic carved into the bottom. Yaxley had wanted to torture the man, had wanted to Imperius him, make the man beg for death. Percy hadn’t been ordered to kill the man, but he had asked Severus for a poison that was painless and fast and Severus had provided, worried quietly that Percy would try something foolish, on either himself or on the Dark Lord.

The other items were more innocuous. Textbooks that were scrawled in with notes, diaries that Percy had filled in his time within Voldemort’s shadow. A muggle fountain pen charmed to never run dry, his glasses and a stack of loose parchment. 

And a Lover’s Eye.

Severus stared at the image of his own eye, watching the way the brow turned up in agony as he realized that Percy had worn this charm to keep tabs on him, a small, secret way to see Severus’ own emotions when they were apart. 

Severus clutched the Lover’s Eye and was tempted to throw it into the fire down in the sitting room, but instead drew his wand and aimed it at the Lover’s Eye. Slowly the image changed, Severus’ own dark, sharp and critical eye changed to Percy’s soft green gaze, like the grassy moors that the Hogwarts Express traveled through. 

There would never be any magic within this locket. It would never show Percy’s emotions, but Severus could look upon it, let the locket rest close to his heart beneath his robes.

The last item that was within Percy’s bag was his tarot deck. Severus had rarely seen him reading the tarot, but he knew that the younger man took tea with Professor Trelawney during his time locked away at Hogwarts under Severus’ tenure. Shuffling the purple cards, Severus took a deep breath and asked the deck a question.

“Will I be able to bring Percy back?”

He drew three cards. The Wheel of Fortune, Reversed. Six of Wands, Reversed. Two of Cups, Upright.

* * *

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was napping and Severus was grateful for that small mercy. He didn’t think he could handle Dumbledore’s condescensions. The man had never known about Severus’ affair in life, and the portrait had disapproved of the “dalliance” when Percy had first begun to visit Severus in Hogwarts during his tenure as Headmaster. 

Minerva didn’t seem to approve either, but what could she care for now? Percy was dead.

“Would I need to worry about you carrying on an affair with another student, Severus?” Minerva asked, pointedly staring at him as she sipped her tea. 

“Percy Weasley was an exception,” Severus stared at his own teacup. “One that I hadn’t even considered after… Lily.”

“You were always such a solitary boy,” Minerva hummed, nibbling at a biscuit as she looked at him. “But then again, so was Percy Weasley. It shouldn’t have surprised us as much as it did, what Potter said when he brought you to the Great Hall.”

Severus had seen the photographs, splashed across an older Rita Skeeter article. She had painted quite the conspiracy about him and Percy while Severus had been comatose in St. Mungo’s, and doubtless if Severus had not survived she’d have made a very lucrative killing penning Severus’ own hatchet-job biography the same way she had Albus’. 

“I think it’ll be good for you to teach again,” Minerva said simply. “You have your choice of returning to the potion’s master position-”

“No,” Severus nearly choked as his own words circled around the inside of his skull in a mobius strip of guilt. _I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death._ “No, if it’s all the same to you, Minerva, I would rather return to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He would feel like less of a failure in that class. Likely he’d explain to the children that if they are ever faced with an enormous fucking snake that a quick severing charm might save their lives. Or the ability to duck.

Minerva stared at him, her eyes observing him as if she was trying to peel back his scalp and crack open his skull to observe his thoughts. He kept his mental walls up, years of occlumency saving him from her prying eyes. “Very well. I can ask Slughorn to stay on for a few more years as potion’s master. I doubt this will be a difficult conversation, he’s become quite taken with the students now, quite involved.”

“I will stay on,” Severus whispered as he looked at Albus’ still snoozing portrait, forcing his hands not to shake as he sipped from the tea cup. “I miss teaching.”

It was one of many lies he had been telling himself of late. 

“You’re sure, Severus?”

“I’m fine, Minerva.” That was another lie, but if he said it often enough perhaps it would become true. “The sooner things get back to normal the better for all of us.”

* * *

“You come here often,” It wasn’t a question and Severus hadn’t intended it to be, had merely wanted to fill the awkward silence between the two of them.

Harry Potter had made it a point to harass Severus, to constantly come down for tea, or whiskey more often than not, to ask him endless inane questions about _his childhood_ and other such useless dreck. 

The only questions that Severus treated with even a modicum of respect were ones about Lily. 

“This was the last place I saw them,” Harry sighed as he looked around. “With the Resurrection Stone.”

Severus stiffened, but forced the tension to leave his shoulders as he made note of the place. “Who did you see?”

“My mum… My dad… Sirius and Lupin,” Harry looked around the clearing. “I knew you were still alive, but I didn’t see you here so I… I figured that you had to still be alive, that you’d survive the end.”

“A foolish hope, I was on the brink of death for weeks afterwards.” 

There was nothing to differentiate this stretch of forest from the others, simply that Harry had walked the path nigh endlessly. 

“My mum made you my godfather… Why?”

Severus huffed and turned his attention to Harry, looking down at the younger man with a contemplative look. “Because I loved her and she knew I was devoted to her. She was my only true friend, even after I made… Regrettable decisions. She forgave me.”

“You were there when I was born,” Harry was curious, it was natural to be curious, but Severus hoped the boy didn’t get any strange thoughts into his head. 

“Your mother and I were having tea when her water broke,” Severus’ face twitched as he remembered pouring over baby and childbirthing books, becoming a veritable encyclopedia for Lily, plying her with endless potions for the health of her and the baby, and then the frantic pounding of his heart when she went into labor. “I had never gotten my driver’s license and I was too scared to apparate her, so I called a taxi and paid the driver an exorbitant amount of money to break every speed limit to get to the hospital.”

Harry gave a small laugh. “Bet the muggle hospital was not happy about that.”

“You caused a power outage when you were born,” Severus said dryly. “A menace, even as a newborn.”

“Why didn’t you ever take me away from the Dursleys?” Harry asked, his voice soft, accusing, and Severus knew that this question was coming, but had hoped he’d be given more time to prepare an adequate answer for it. 

“Blood is very important to magic,” Severus began as he looked down at Harry, at those eyes that were Lily’s eyes. “Petunia Dursley was the only remaining family of both the Evans and the Potters line. Number 4 Privet Drive was where the last of where your mother’s blood resided, and so her love could protect you, at least until you were an adult.” Harry frowned, and Severus sighed as he shook his head. “I, as much as I loved your mother, am not your blood, Harry. I could never hope to compete with the power of Lily’s love, and so you were safer with the Dursleys, despite their shortcomings and abuse.”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course I knew,” Severus sighed, fumbling through his robe’s pockets until he drew out the silver cigarette case engraved with the Malfoy crest. He offered Harry a cigarette, the younger man eyeing the case quietly and accepting. Severus lit both of their cigarettes with the tip of his finger before he continued. “I scried upon you every day for years. Even after you were in Hogwarts, I checked on you, made sure you were safe. It’s how I knew that you were about to do something monumentally stupid that night at the Shrieking Shack your third year. How I knew to send the Order to the Department of Mysteries in your fifth year.”

Harry stared at the cigarette case, frowning before he whispered hoarsely around a breath of smoke, “And Percy? You convinced him to help?”

“Percy had his own demons to fight, his actions were all his own,” Severus sighed. “Don’t judge him too harshly for the actions he took. He didn’t trust Dumbledore, and he certainly didn’t trust anyone else in the Order. Selfishly, I didn’t want to risk Percy turning into one of Dumbledore’s pawns like so many others.”

“When did you…” Harry frowned, scuffing his shoes in the dirt. “When did you know you loved him?”

Severus exhaled a long stream of smoke, staring at the autumn leaves of the forest, a riot of warm oranges, reds, browns, and yellows. He hadn’t sharpened his nails in some time, the points were dull, and the black polish was chipped in places, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about that.

“His seventh year,” Severus said simply. “He was suffering hallucinations, hearing Voldemort’s voice in his head. I taught him Occlumency, but before that I saw… I saw his feelings for me.” He thought of those beautiful green eyes, staring apologetically up at him in the Shrieking Shack, and then a deep, bruising kiss shared between them. “No one, not even your mother, saw me the way that Percy Weasley did.”

Harry didn’t need to know the details, didn’t need to know that it had started with lust, with Severus’ own desires winning out over his self control. That he had first looked at Percy and seen red hair and green eyes and an academic sharpness that reminded him entirely of Lily. It had been a selfish decision at first, but Severus had lapped up the attention that Percy had given him, and when the boy had flourished under Severus’ own attention… Then he had found out about the blackouts. The horcrux. The Chamber of Secrets. 

Severus crushed the cigarette beneath his foot. “What did you do with the Resurrection Stone?” He asked curiously, changing the subject. “You could see your parents more than once.”

“I dropped it,” Harry shrugged. “The Hallows had brought no one anything but grief. I broke the Elder Wand in half, lost the Resurrection Stone here… The only good Hallow was the Invisibility Cloak.”

“If I had known the mischief you’d get up to with it then I wouldn’t have given it to you,” Severus sighed as he blew out the last of his cigarette smoke that he had held in his lungs. 

“And your Potions Textbook?” Harry asked with a slight smile. 

“That proved to be a double-edged sword, didn’t it?” Severus raised a brow down at Harry. “I do hope you learned not to practice unknown spells on your fellow students after that.”

They stood in the clearing, wind whipping their cloaks about their bodies for a few more moments, before Harry shuddered and sighed. “I’m going to return to the dorm. Hermione got a study group set up for all the seconds years that are basically repeating their first year and I promised to help teach Defense.”

“I shall remain here for a moment,” Severus waved the younger man off. “Go on, now, best not keep Miss Granger waiting.”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, but he shook his head after a moment. “Goodbye, Snape.”

“Hmm,” Severus watched the young man pick his way back through the Forbidden Forest, waiting until he could no longer hear the steady footsteps on crunching leaves before he turned and waved his hand. “ _Accio Marvolo Gaunt’s Ring_.”

The ring flew into his palm, sans the Resurrection Stone, and Severus glared at it. He tossed aside the cursed ring and fell to his knees, pawing through layers of leaves, carefully clearing a space, then another space, combing his fingers through the earth, using the points of his nails to dig up rocks and pebbles, hunting on his hands and knees. Hours passed like this, and when it became dark he cast a blanket of luminous mist over the area, searching even more carefully for the stone. 

“Ah!” He hissed when his finger caught on the sharp edge of something and peered down, feeling his heart freeze as he saw the polished glint of the stone. He dug it from the earth, smoothing dirt away from the surface. It was still cracked from where Dumbledore had struck it with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, but if Harry was to be believed it still worked perfectly. Pulling a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, Severus wrapped the stone in it then slipped it into back into the pocket of his robes. 

He had dinner in the Great Hall, sipped at his pumpkin juice and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he gave grunts and monosyllabic answers to Minerva’s questions and attempts at conversation. When the students started to filter back to their houses after dinner, Severus slipped away from the staff table and down through the winding passages until he was in the Dungeons once more. When he carefully locked and warded the door to his quarters he took a shaking breath and placed the handkerchief on the side table beside his high backed armchair. 

He poured himself two fingers of firewhiskey and stared into the fireplace before he downed his drink and placed the glass aside, picking up the handkerchief slowly. He gently wiped the dirt clean with the handkerchief and then held it up to the light of the fire, staring at the symbol of the Deathly Hallows within the glittering stone. 

He should throw it into the fire. He knew the story of the Deathly Hallows and what had happened to Cadmus Peverell.

Closing his eyes, Severus took a deep breath and turned the stone thrice in hand. 

Silence, nothing, and Severus let out a sigh, opening his eyes.

Only to see Percy standing before him, the younger man smiling gently. His face was pale and clean and beautiful. He looked so much happier than he had ever been in life, even with Severus, and it made the man’s heart ache.

“Hello, Severus,” The young man spoke, smiling as he held out his hand to the man. “I’ve missed you.”

Severus reached out, only for his hand to fall through Percy’s as he grasped and reached. The shade of him looked solid, was only barely transparent, and he didn’t float like a ghost did, he stood upon the ground as if he had weight, gravity to him. “You don’t belong in this realm.” Severus murmured sadly, his fingers tracing the air around the younger man’s face. 

“I don’t,” Percy agreed, his smile turning sad as he rested his hands upon Severus’ chest, letting his palms drift through the fabric, skin, and bone to wrap warm and comforting around the man’s heart. They weren’t chilled, like ghosts, they bore a faint warmth that permeated even the thick wool of Severus’ robes. Severus’ eyes drifted closed and he felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he felt the warmth, his heart pounding against the shade’s fingers. “You could come with me, Severus.” Those fingers tickled against Severus’ ribs, down to his waist, pulling back slowly. “It’s easier than falling into bed.”

Severus stared down at those beautiful green eyes, soft and warm, and tried to reach for his face, to draw Percy closer, to kiss him one last time, only for their faces to brush and never truly touch, not with Percy standing on one side of the veil and Severus on the other. “I will find a way to bring you back, I swear.” He whispered, his hands shaking as he dropped the stone, trying to cup both of his hands around Percy’s face.

The moment the stone hit the plush green carpet, the shade vanished into a fine mist that smelled of clove smoke and ink and soap.

* * *

Severus altered the Lover’s Eye locket. Instead of being merely flat on the inside he took a few days to charm it into being able to hold the Resurrection Stone in its golden confines. He wore it beneath his neck, close to his skin, and often fiddled with it. 

It was a pure accident to discover that turning the locket three times on the chain summoned the shade of Percy, and that releasing the locket to leave it against his chest would allow the shade to remain. He had been pacing among the columns of students, watching them practice defensive spells and countercurses against one another, idly fiddling with the locket on its fine chain, giving criticisms when he saw them.

“Mister Abernathy, do you not remember my instructions on defending against striking spells? A broad shield to disperse the spell.”

“Oh, come now, Severus,” A voice cooed in his ear and Severus turned, staring at the shade before him. It was Percy, paler than before, less freckled, but still quite lovely and healthy in appearance, standing more solidly than a ghost, but not solid enough to embrace. “You always were such a demanding teacher.” Percy walked around the edge of the classroom, startling students and distracting others as he lurked towards Severus’ desk at the head of the classroom. 

“Keep working,” Severus ordered the students, quickly striding to stand at his desk. Percy leaned against the high back of Severus’ chair, smirking as the man looked down at him. “You can’t just disturb my class, Percy.” He said sternly, flustered despite himself.

“I’m dead, Severus,” Percy tilted his head and smirked at the man. “I can do anything I want.”

“And you _want_ to cause an accident in my classroom?” Severus glanced at the students, who were still clearly distracted by Severus’ argument with the shade. 

“Absolutely not,” Percy hummed, circling around Severus before he passed clean through the man to walk down the aisle flanked by students throwing spells back and forth. “You were the one who summoned me here, now, maybe you want me to distract you, deep down.”

“Percy!” Severus hissed, turning sharply and taking a thoughtless step forward to follow the shade. 

He was struck by a hurling hex that sent him flying into the air, his distraction causing him to crash into the ceiling, and then back to the ground. He was about to be thrown back into the air when he waved his hand and uttered the countercurse, dropping him back onto the floor on his back, the air whooshing from his lungs as he made impact. 

“I’m so sorry, Professor Snape!” The student said as she knelt beside Severus, trying to help him up. “I’m so sorry, I had already cast it and I couldn’t think of the countercurse and you just walked into i-”

“Class dismissed,” Severus barked, rolling onto his elbows and knees, forcing himself upright with a grunt. “I want a report by this Friday on one dark charm and the adequate counters for them, this can be a jinx, hex, or curse, now _go_!”

The students flew out of the classroom like bats escaping a belfry. 

Percy’s shade was gone, the only sign of him ever being there was the faint scent of clove cigarettes on the air.

Severus grunted and limped towards the door, his knees strained from the sudden impacts and doubtless he had several bruises. If he hurried he could get to his dungeon quarters and down a few potions, slather some bruise paste over his chest, and then be back in time for his next class. He couldn’t be angry at the student, he had been the one to walk directly into her line of fire, a foolish mistake that he knew better than to do. 

He closed the door to his quarters behind him and locked the door before he started to strip his robes off in front of his bedroom mirror. He stared at his reflection, at the protective spell emblazoned on his chest in scar tissue. He had avoided looking at himself in the mirror after realizing what was etched into his chest, sigils of love, guardianship, ancient spells invoking the protection of Percy’s own blood. Percy had never been a good duelist, he had never been particularly adequate with modern spells, but the old ways he had always been exceptional in.

Severus placed his hand over his chest where the warm golden locket still rested on his pale skin, and after a moment he turned the locket three times on the chain. 

Percy’s face appeared over his shoulder, his nearly-ghostly arms wrapping around Severus’ chest, permeating warmth into the man’s skin. “I always loved seeing marks on you.” Percy whispered, his palm brushing over a bruise forming on Severus’ ribs. “Especially when they were mine.” Those soft, perfect lips brushed warmth over Severus’ ear as he tilted his head and whispered. “I miss feeling you, Severus. I miss your touch, your kisses, your marks.” Severus felt his heart breaking as he thought of how close they were, how so very close he was to Percy, but the veil between the living and the dead might as well have been an ocean of distance. He’d have an easier chance reaching the moon than reaching out to truly touch Percy. “You know what you have to do, Severus. You and I could be together again.” Soft verdant eyes looked up at him and Severus wanted to sob at the sight. “Don’t you want to be with me?”

Severus reached out to the shade that was so real, so close to perfectly solid, but his hands passed through Percy, bathed in the warmth of the shade and that only made the longing worse. If he was a true ghost then he would be cold, then the pain wouldn’t be so acute, knowing that he was dead and cold in the ground. This warmth, this facsimile of Percy’s sunkissed warmth, was torture. Severus sank to his knees and sobbed, pressing his forehead to the plush carpet beneath him. 

“Percy,” He choked out, his fingers clawing at the fabric of the rug. “Please, please, I want you back. I’ll give anything to have you back.”

“You know what you must do,” Percy whispered into his ear, crouching beside Severus. “It would be so easy. Dreamless Sleep would be perfect for it. And when you wake you would be with me.”

“I can’t-” Severus shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough.”

“Don’t you want to be with me?” The shade’s voice was hurt, thick with tears, and Severus looked up immediately, meeting those beautiful green eyes. 

“Of course I do, Percy,” He breathed, reaching out, his hand shaking, tracing the shape of Percy’s face in the air right before him. “I love you.”

A knock broke the silence between them and Percy’s shade slunk into a dark corner, peering out as Severus snapped his fingers and redressed himself. He adjusted his cloak and swept to the door, opening it to reveal Poppy on the other side.

“Severus, I heard there was a little bit of an accident in class earlier, I came to check on you,” She squinted at him, looking him over in the same way she had when Severus was a student and had come to her with bruises and wounds from his interactions with the Marauders. “You walked into a student’s line of fire?”

“Believe me, it was not intentional,” Severus could still sense Percy in the corner of the room, lurking like a shadow. “Suicide by Sixth Year is not my preferred way to go.”

“Be that as it may, I’m going to run a diagnostic,” Poppy drew her wand and aimed it at Severus, twirling it in the complicated way that healers were taught to gather all of the data about those they were treating. When she was given the information she scowled at him. “You haven’t been eating.”

“I’m perfectly alright,” Severus huffed. 

“You cannot live on a diet of firewhiskey and moly,” Poppy tapped the sidetable beside Severus’ chair and a silver platter from the Great Hall was summoned. In a pop of House Elf magic there was a sandwich, a steak and kidney pie slathered in gravy, bangers and mash, and a plethora of biscuits. “Eat something before your next class, Severus.”

Severus sat in his chair, scowling at the woman as he picked up the sandwich and took an enormous bite of it, chewing as slowly and petulantly as he could manage as he glared at Poppy. Percy was staring at him over her shoulder, smirking at Severus as he watched the man eat and the taste of ham and cheese and lettuce and tomato turned to ash in his mouth at the reminder of the shade.

“There, was that so difficult?” Poppy asked, her hands on her hips. “I’ll leave you to it and I’ll be checking up on you more often, is that understood?” 

“Clearly,” Severus groused as he choked down another bite of the sandwich. “If that is all, Poppy?”

He expected her to see Percy when she turned, but the shade vanished into a cloud of mist and clove cigarette smoke and she scowled. “Nasty habit, you’ve picked up, Severus, the smoking.”

Severus thought of Percy’s response to Severus’ complaints of the same thing. “I should smoke two at once.”

“Don’t be morbid,” Poppy chided as she closed the door behind her. 

The tray of food was thrown into the fire and Severus sighed as the scent of burning meat and starch filled the room.

* * *

The ghosts were avoiding Severus. That in and of itself was not quite a trial to deal with. Severus didn’t have to deal with Peeves’ taunting and practical jokes but the reluctance of the ghosts to report to Severus any incidents regarding students made his patrols much broader and more difficult when he didn’t specifically know where wrong-doing and mischief was taking place. 

Standing at the top of the Astronomy tower, Severus took a deep breath and stared down at the spot where Albus Dumbledore’s body had landed after Severus’ cold blooded murder. He could still hear Percy’s frantic, terrified cries, Bellatrix’s screams. 

Albus’ last exhausted plea. Had it really been four years since that fateful day? It had been easier to pretend that time had stood still when Potter was at Hogwarts, even if he was more subdued, if he treated Severus himself as if he was the one made of glass, teetering on a precipice 

“If you jumped it is unlikely that you’d come back,” A quiet, hoarse voice called out, ghostly footsteps stopping beside Severus. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.” The Bloody Baron’s towering form hovered right at the edge of the railing and Severus glanced up at the ghost’s pale face. His fur-trimmed cloak didn’t billow in the wind that whipped Severus’ own robes about his body, and when the ghost looked down at him Severus could see the outlines of clouds through the spectral form. “I remember seeing you here with the Weasley boy.” The Baron continued, looking up at the roof of the Astronomy tower. “Making moonwater. He was quite curious. Bright. I could tell that you were fond of him, but to what extent I didn’t know.”

“Is there a point to this, Walden?” Severus sighed as he looked away from the ghost. “Percy Weasley is dead, that is the end of it.”

“Precisely,” The Baron’s voice was sharp, stern. “What is dead is dead and cannot be brought back, no matter what you wish. The Resurrection Stone is a piece of trickery you had best forget about.”

Dark eyes fixed on the Baron’s equally dark gave. “What do you know of the Resurrection Stone?” He asked softly, and the Baron held out his chained hands.

“I know that it is cursed,” The Baron gave Severus a stern look. “The thing that you summon is not Percy Weasley. It might seem to be him in all of his appearance and mannerisms and pretty words, but beware.” Severus turned away from the ghost, striding towards the spiraling stairs that led down the tower. “What the stone shows is merely an illusion, a shade of the person you most love, come to bring you into Death’s embrace.”

Severus froze, his robes draped over the edge of a guard rail, whipping about his legs and arms as he turned and stared up at the Baron. “What do you know of love? You pursued a woman who did not love you to the point of obsession! You killed her because no one else could have her! Look at you now!” Severus gestured to the chains weighing down the ghost’s wrists. “Bound, for an eternity, to this wretched place without even the warmth of love to chase away your chill!”

The Baron stared down at him and Severus felt the looming dread that he had overstepped, even as head of house he had never presumed to _shout_ at the Bloody Baron. 

“Love has made you blind, Severus Snape,” The Baron whispered. “You invite this dark shade into the castle and put your own life in danger every time you do.”

“My life has always been in danger, Walden,” Severus choked out, staring at the man. “There was never a time when it was not.”

“Throw the Stone away, Severus,” Those dark eyes were pleading and Severus stared at the bright red bloodstains on the man’s pale clothing. “Throw it into the Great Lake, forget about it, live a long and happy life, die of old age.”

Severus clutched at the locket containing the stone as it hung about his neck like a drowning weight from the witch trials. “I cannot, Walden, don’t you understand? I… This is the last I have of him.”

“But it is not him, Severus, no matter how it may look,” The Baron shook his head, his gaunt face looking so much more pitying than it ever had before and Severus knew the man must think him a blind fool. “It is not a ghost that you have summoned, it is something infinitely more sinister.”

“It could be,” Severus whispered. “It smells like him, it… It could be real.”

It tasted a lie even as he said it, desperately trying to believe it, to make it so.

* * *

Albus had told him, over a decade ago now, to not try and seek out the Mirror of Erised again. That seeing what was within could drive him to madness. Albus, however, was a sentimental old fool who kept a statue of Gellert Grindelwald in the Room of Requirement, hidden away among all the other lost items so that he could stand before it and wish and pine for an old love. He kept Aberforth in Hogsmeade, and a portrait of Ariana in his private quarters and all manner of pretty shining trinkets that had no real purpose other than sentimentality. 

So why wouldn’t he keep the Mirror of Erised somewhere?

Severus hacked his way through Devil’s Snare, burning it with fiendfyre when it tried to haul it into his embrace. He picked through the keys that had once been charmed to fly about and attack any who tried to capture them. The wizarding chess set gave him some trouble, but nothing that a few blasting hexes didn’t take care of. His own test of potions was still there and he stared at the dusty line of bottles, interrupted twice, before he carefully stepped into the final protection that had failed to keep the Stone truly safe. 

There, standing in darkness, covered with a decade of dust, was Dumbledore’s most prized and precious possession: the Mirror of Erised.

Severus’ fingers traced the edges of the mirror, staring at the engraving at the top of the elegant mirror. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

He had looked upon it countless times in his youth and earlier tenure as a professor, and always the image had changed.

First it was himself and Lily, renowned and powerful wixen. Then it was himself and Lily with a son or daughter, both of whom took after her. Then it was merely Severus alone, unharmed, a powerful dark wizard, feared and revered. Slowly the mirror had turned towards ideas of revenge against Voldemort, for Lily’s death, of Severus and Harry together, living as godfather and godson as they should have, as Albus had always told him was impossible. 

Then, in 1991, after making moonwater with a devastatingly clever and wretchedly beautiful young boy, the mirror had shown him something entirely new: Severus and Percy, smiling at their shared reflection, those perfect green eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of Lily, staring up at Severus adoringly.

He hadn’t deserved that then. He did not deserve that now. Yet here Severus stood, staring at his reflection and seeing Percy, his chin resting upon Severus’ shoulder as his arms wrapped tightly about Severus’ waist, holding him close, lifting his hand to the locket around Severus’ neck. Those green eyes were beautiful, perfect, his skin flawless and unblemished by time or stress or battle. 

“You could still have that, you know.”

In a second the quiet was broken and Severus choked on a soft noise of anguish. His hand was wrapped around the locket, he had turned it thrice on the chain, and when he looked in the mirror there was now, instead of the fresh-faced vision of Percy as he was, the shade of him now. The shade was more skeletal now, the eyes more sunken, the skin cracked in some places, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped.

“You could still have me,” The shade brushed lips that were not really there over Severus’ cheekbone, over his jaw, leaving a burning heat in his wake. “All you have to do is follow me.”

“You are not what I want,” Severus whispered. “What I want is Percy _alive_.”

“You can’t always have what you want, Severus,” The shade smirked, pouting his soft lips at the man. “But you’re familiar with that, aren’t you? Familiar with what you want being dangled-” the shade took a step back and Severus gasped at the loss of the shade’s heat “just out of your reach.”

Dark eyes closed and Severus let out a ragged sigh. “You’re not him, you’re not real, an illusion dreamt up by the stone.”

“Then why do you still summon me?” Percy’s voice was behind the mirror now and Severus felt his breath catch. “I stood behind here, you know, all those years ago… Just before Christmas, before the mirror was moved down here.” 

He couldn’t breathe. He had forgotten how.

“I longed for _you_ before I even realized the depths of my feelings, the lengths I would go to for you.”

Severus sank to his knees, staring up at the mirror, at his broken reflection. “Percy… Please, stop this.”

“You are the one who can stop this, Severus,” Percy’s voice faded away slowly and Severus circled the mirror, trying to find the shade only for there to be nothing but mist. “It’s such a simple thing you have to do, like falling asleep.”

* * *

Severus was supervising Study Hall, pacing up and down the aisles between tables when his idle fiddling turned the stone thrice and summoned the shade of Percy Weasley once more. Over the years the shade had changed. Once it was merely Percy, as beautiful and fresh-faced and lovely as he had been in life, but the shade was not meant for the realm of the living. 

Black cracks had formed in the face of his lost love and black smoke and ash spilled out of them, trailing through the air in open defiance of all physics and movement as the shade floated through the air, grasping at Severus’ shoulders with a touch that burned like hellfire. 

“Really, Severus, we’ve been playing this game for too long,” Percy’s voice whispered, dripping poison into the man’s ear as Severus sat at the staff table, starting to grade papers as he tried to ignore the shade’s words. “Don’t you miss me, my love? Don’t you miss my kisses? My touch?” The shade’s venomous green eyes stared at Severus. “Why keep drawing me from where we both rightly belong when you could so easily follow me?”

Severus’ brows pinched and he clutched at Percy’s enchanted fountain pen, nearly spraying red ink all over some poor First Year’s report on basic shielding spells. “I cannot join you yet.” He whispered to the shade. “Harry is getting marr-”

“Harry _fucking_ Potter means more to you than me?” Percy’s shade whispered, staring at him. “The man who died for you?” A burning hand pressed to Severus’ chest, where the scars of the blood magic still resided. “After my blood, my love, saved your life?”

“Professor Snape?” A meek voice called and both man and shade looked at the Third Year staring up at him. “I, um, I have a question about momentum spells.”

Severus placed the pen down and stood, following the Third Year to her pile of books where she had sprawled out several tomes. “Walk me through your findings, Miss Sistynne.”

The day dragged on. Study hall gave way to Sixth Year Defense Against The Dark Arts, gave way to dinner, and then to Severus’ patrol through the castle. Shadowed the entire time by the thing that sounded like, looked like, _smelled_ like Percy Weasley. It was torture in its own right, but a torture that Severus had spent seven years living with. 

“Aren’t you tired of fighting, Severus?” The shade asked as Severus sat before the roaring fire in his quarters, a bottle of firewhiskey beside him. “Isn’t it exhausting? Just living like this?” Percy’s burning hand traced Severus’ face and he wished that the touch would blister, crackle, peel the skin away, anything to show that this was real and not just a hallucination of his own broken mind. “Don’t you want to finally rest?” 

Rest. Yes. 

Severus stood and moved to the liquor cabinet in the corner of his quarters’ sitting room. He pulled out the bottles shaped like small animals, rats, bats, cats, toads, that had once held samples of whiskey. Now they held Dreamless Sleep and nearly every night Severus took some of the potent potion to force himself to rest. The shade watched eagerly as Severus lined up the small bottles on his side table. It’s grey, gaunt face was not the Percy that he remembered, it was something horrible, something worse, but the eyes were still him, those perfect eyes that had once looked at him with nothing but love now watched as Severus prepared his own death.

“I miss you so much, Severus,” The shade whispered, staring at the man. “My love, please, come back to me, come to my arms.” Percy’s fingers traced Severus’ face. “You belong with me.”

Severus had known the tale of Cadmus’ demise, had been told on countless occasions by the Bloody Baron of the trickery of Death, but his rational mind could not think through the pain of his heart beating in his chest without Percy. "Does it hurt?” He asked the shade. “Dying?”

"No, my love," Percy’s shade smiled as he knelt before Severus, the ghastly head resting upon the man's knee, weightless and burning hot. "It's like falling asleep."

He had brewed the Dreamless Sleep potion himself. It tasted of chamomile, mint, and lavender to help make it more palatable. It was stronger than the stuff that Slughorn provided Poppy for the infirmary. 

The first bottle was shaped like a rat and he swallowed it down, breathing deeply before he opened the next, a small cat seated with tail curled elegantly about its body, and downed that as well. Six small bottles were lined up next to his towering bottle of firewhiskey, and Severus picked up his copy of The Jungle Books, and opened it to his favourite story. 

He was nearly through the story when his eyes closed and sleep took him. 

_What price for a snake's egg? For a young cobra? For a young king-cobra? For the last - the very last of the brood? The ants are eating all the others down by the melon-bed._

* * *

“Severus?” Minerva knocked on the door, frowning as she glanced over her shoulder at Filch, Poppy, and Slughorn. Severus hadn’t been at breakfast, which wasn’t unusual, but his first class had been left to their own devices, and then his second class had reported Professor Snape absent as well. The door was heavily warded as it always had been, but Minerva was Headmistress and Hogwarts would allow her into every room within her walls. “Severus, I’m coming in.” She called, turning the handle of the door and swinging it open, wand in hand. 

Severus Snape was long dead. 

His eyes were closed, his head tilted against a slumped shoulder as if he had merely fallen asleep reading. The children’s book that had slipped from his fingers lay with pages crumpled carelessly on the floor, Severus’ stiff fingers dangling off the edge of his lap. He looked peaceful, smiling with his brows softened as if he was dreaming. 

“Dreamless Sleep,” Slughorn said as he sniffed at the empty little bottles shaped like small animals. “All of them, and not anything that I’ve brewed, so he’s made it himself.”

“Oh, Minerva,” Poppy choked out, holding a handkerchief to her mouth. “He… I thought he was doing better. It’s been years, I thought…”

Minerva gently opened the locket that rested atop the stiff black wool of Severus’ robes. Inside was a Lover’s Eye drawing, a green eye shaded by a ginger brow, and out of the locket tumbled a small sharply carved stone with a crack cutting through the symbol of the Deathly Hallows within it. 

“Oh, Severus,” Minerva sighed as she rested her hand on the back of the man’s cold palm. “The Resurrection Stone. He must have combed the Forbidden Forest for it after Potter lost it.” She sighed and tucked the stone into her own pocket before she straightened. “Mister Filch, please collect Professor Snape and move him to the Infirmary with Poppy, I will contact Mister Potter to have him claim the body.”

“There’s no note, Minerva,” Slughorn said as he peered around Severus’ quarters, greedy eyes lighting up when he found a cabinet of expensive and rare potion’s ingredients.

“I’m sure we’ll find Professor Snape’s affairs are well in order,” Minerva sighed. “He never expected to survive the war anyway.”

“Death collected what he was due,” Slughorn whispered, looking at Severus’ stiff body as Filch and Poppy began to move him to a summoned stretcher. “Poor bastard.”

Minerva silently agreed, turning to exit the man’s quarters.

“He is dead,” A hoarse voice called out and Minerva looked at the gaunt face of the Bloody Baron as the ghost loomed outside the Slytherin Head of House’s quarters. “He never listened to my advice.”

“What advice?” Minerva asked, frowning as she took in the sad expression of the notoriously morose and cruel ghost.

“Who holds possession of the Resurrection Stone?” The ghost asked instead of answering, staring at Minerva.

“I do.”

“Destroy it,” The Baron’s dark eyes stared down at Minerva. “It is a cursed item that will bring only grief.”

“I will, Baron,” Minerva nodded, sighing softly. “If you will excuse me, I need to contact Potter, he is the closest thing to kin that Severus has.”

The Bloody Baron didn’t look convinced as he searched Minerva’s face, but after a moment he strode past her in a wash of cold air, his chains clinking as ghostly footsteps retreated down the dungeon hallway.

Standing in the Headmistress’ office before the fire, staring into the flames as she retrieved the stone from her pocket, Minerva was struck by sentimentality that she had not allowed herself to dwell on for so long. She should throw it into the flames, destroy it as the Bloody Baron had suggested. Instead, she thought of Elphinstone and Dougal, the two men that she had loved and lost to fate and war.

Closing her eyes, Minerva took a deep, shuddering breath and turned the stone thrice in hand.


End file.
